# Americanarchy  [Updated 8 March, 2004]



## C. Baize (Dec 16, 2003)

"_The other night I tripped a nice continental drift divide. Mountains sit in a line.
Leonard Bernstein. Leonid Breshnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs.
Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom! You symbiotic, patriotic,
slam, but neck, right? Right.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine...fine..._"
* -- R.E.M. "It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)"*


It finally happened. The world went to hell in the proverbial handbasket. Long envied for her wealth, and prosperity, the U.S.A. is attacked by enemies, old and new, looking to carve out their own piece of the 'Land of Plenty'. 
Bio-Chemical agents dispersed in America's lakes and rivers lead to an outbreak of plague causing people, by the millions, to grow sick, die, and most frighteningly, to walk again with one goal ingrained into them... spread the disease. 
Many many people succumbed to the fatal disease. Many more were killed when Washington DC, Seattle, Tacoma, Los Angeles, Cheyenne Mountain, The Pentagon, and several other sites were nuked. Government has collapsed, orders are no longer being handed down to the military. Factions are formed; with many military platoons, and even entire Batallions deserting, taking what supplies and weapons they can, and quickly carving out a niche for themselves. 
Now people must work together to survive rapidly emerging rogue military and militia units, roving bands of good ol' boys, the walking dead, foreign military invaders (who are inadvertently carrying the plague with them, back to their home countries), and something new, something only now emerging, like any good pathogen, this one has mutated, and is creating a new breed of human...
Who will survive? Who will prosper?

What beings came into our world following the Tunguska Blast, the Manhattan Project, and the Philadelphia Experiment? Do they hold the secret of the cure? IS there a cure?

We shall see.

Americanarchy


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## jezter6 (Dec 17, 2003)

You're a sick, sick man...

When do we see the first story?


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## Mista Collins (Dec 17, 2003)

This looks very very very interesting. I will have to keep myself updated. It makes me want to start my own d20 Modern campaign.. which I might.


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## C. Baize (Dec 17, 2003)

I'm going to be posting some background material, first, so that everyone is up to speed on what's going on in the world, from the perspective of the characters, and other world citizens.


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## C. Baize (Dec 18, 2003)

Associated Press said:
			
		

> August 5th, 2002. Associated Press - Staff Writer James Calhoun.
> 
> *Premier of Nova Scotia Becomes Prime Minister of Canada*
> The story of the new Prime Minister of Canada, Jacques d’Gorthar, is a story of sadness, determination, and iron will.
> ...




"Well," intoned President Bush in his Texas drawl, "now that Chreti.... Cretin... err... hell, whatever his name was, is outta office, maybe we can get the Canadians to fall in line with are foreign policy. I dunno why Blair duddin' jes' tell these guys ta tow the line." Bush put down the paper, and went for his morning jog, pleased with himself for his diplomatic pressure to remove Chretien. 

Elsewhere....

General Sharkey was answering the summons to Prime Minister d'Gorthar's office.
"Mr. Prime Minister."

"Ah... General Sharkey, yes. I want you to start working up offensive and defensive tactics in case of unprovoked aggression on our southern border. Our neighbor to the south has shown that he's not averse to throwing the first punch. I don't want to be caught unaware, should that happen, here."

"Yes, Mr. Prime Minister."

"Oh... And General Sharkey, I believe it is time to recall, and prepare for Project Coldwalk, including..." d'Gorthar slid a CD jewel case across his desk, "the contents of this disc. I will assume that you will put the right people on the job."

"Of course, Mr. Prime Minister, I'll have a team of specialists on it, within the week."

"Very good, General, you're dismissed."

------------------------------------------------------

Yet elsewhere...

Marine Gunnery Sergeant Charles Jackson waited for the signal to take his shot. Squatted with his rump nearly on the ground, his modified .308 rifle held steady in his hands, elbows firmly planted on his knees. GSGT Jackson held his position as he had for the past 7 hours. 
Hearing the difference in sound in his Tac Comm device, he waited for the coordinates, and the okay. 
The whispered voice of Staff Sergeant McEvoy sounded loud in his ears, "White Down one, White Down one, I have contact at ... delta zulu one one four niner seven niner five one, target has ceased forward movement."

"Confirm, delta zulu one one four niner seven niner five one." Jackson ordered.

"Aye," came the whispered response, "...confirm.... delta zulu one one four niner seven niner five one. Fire at will."

GSGT Jackson put his eye to the long range scope, feeling the breeze on his neck, adjusting his sites for the 900 yard shot. 'There you are, Osama...' Jackson exhaled, and squeezed the trigger, noting with quiet satisfaction when his bullet hit the mark, just at the base of the cranium, exiting the top of the skull.
"Red Dog one, move into contact position and confirm hit." 

McEvoy quietly moved to the target's location, and called back, "White Down one, confirmed, target down. Good shot."
GSGT Jackson walked over to the target's position.
McEvoy grinned at him, "I don't think this dummy is going anywhere, but into a box."
Jackson snickered, "Shut up, man. Load it up, let's get back to base."
Staff Sergeant McEvoy carried the target dummy back to the HMMWV. 
They drove back to the Marine base in silence.

To be continued...


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## ledded (Dec 18, 2003)

<eagerly enters theater, popcorn, candy, and coke spilling a little in his rush to throw himself heavily into a seat>

"Did I miss anything yet?  Dang, I hate coming in late"

<stares imploringly at the screen>


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## Pierce (Dec 18, 2003)

Woohoo!  Another modern story hour!  Yay!  Post-apocalyptic-zombie-plague-invasion-anarchic-with-aliens-thrown-in-for-good-measure-goodness!  Can't wait!


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## Tellerve (Dec 18, 2003)

*eyes already transfixed on the screen from his favorite middle seat just a bit up from the front row*

*Turning he nods at ledded and pierceatwork as they come in, a large grin on his face, before settling back into the plush stadium seat.*

A'ight, this looks good, and like Mista Collins, makes me yearn to start my own modern d20 campaign.

Tellerve


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## Mista Collins (Dec 18, 2003)

<as other patrons enter theater> Hey you! Down in front! I am trying to watch the movie! Keep it down!   

Someone had to do it   .


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## KidCthulhu (Dec 18, 2003)

Shush, ledded.  You're gonna make me miss something!  

[stares eagerly at screen] pander to me, baby.


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## ledded (Dec 18, 2003)

<Pulls a flask out of his pocket, pours some into his coke, gestures using the flask with raised eyebrows towards Pierceatwork's and Tellerve's drinks>



			
				Mista Collins said:
			
		

> <as other patrons enter theater> Hey you! Down in front! I am trying to watch the movie! Keep it down!
> 
> Someone had to do it  .





			
				KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Shush, ledded. You're gonna make me miss something!
> 
> [stares eagerly at screen] pander to me, baby.



<Raises an eyebrow at these two while putting the flask away>  "Hmmph.  No Ju-ju for you."


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## Lola (Dec 18, 2003)

*_sits behind ledded and pierce, happy with assignment to pelt them with popcorn if they get too rowdy._*


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## Tellerve (Dec 18, 2003)

*smiles and with a wink and nod to the floor near him you catch a glimpse of a deep red cooler.  A cold one in a dark coozie rises up in Tellerve's hand to nod a silent cheers before settling back to his lips*

*He eyes Lola's grand supply of popcorn before sliding back into his seat, mumbling about drinking on an empty stomach*

Tellerve


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## Pierce (Dec 19, 2003)

Seeing as it's _that_ kind of theater... 

*_pierceatwork pulls a beer hat out from under his seat and straps it to his head.  He then proceeds to mooch a couple of cans off Tellerve to load up._


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## Tellerve (Dec 19, 2003)

*the sounds of ice slushing around is silenced after two chilled cans come in Tellerve's hand back over the seat towards pierceatwork. After they are taken Tellerve's hand switches to a thumbs up before snaking back behind the seat*

Tellerve

p.s. Wow, now we need some more posts from C. Baize


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## ledded (Dec 19, 2003)

Lola said:
			
		

> *_sits behind ledded and pierce, happy with assignment to pelt them with popcorn if they get too rowdy._*



<takes out flask again and, looking back, offers it to Lola, if for no better reason than to head off the inevitable popcorn butter stains>

...

<looks to the rapidly swilling Pierceatwork and Tellerve and gives them the nod, offers up the flask to 'em again, and then noisily breaks into his snowcaps>

...



			
				Tellerve said:
			
		

> p.s. Wow, now we need some more posts from C. Baize



Ooohh, maybe if we hijack his thread into the second page before he ever gets started then he will be shamed into writing faster!


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## jezter6 (Dec 19, 2003)

* Looking over at the others in the quickly crowding theatre*

All right now! Settle down, you just missed the previews...the action will come soon.

(as far as I know they've played 1 session of this, so an update should come in the near future)


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## Lola (Dec 19, 2003)

*_pauses from adding Red Hots candies to popcorn to accept flask from ledded. Adds just enough to coke to give it a kick. Then opens package of twizzlers to complete the movie watching junk food triumvirate._*


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## C. Baize (Dec 19, 2003)

Mitch moved out of the thicker concentration of trees, and opened up the throttle, relishing the brisk air in his face and hair, and the sense of freedom afforded him by not being restricted to the asphalt rat track. Mitch rode for over an hour before he saw the familiar sheriff’s SUV, with the light bars flashing, and deputy Harris standing outside the vehicle, motioning him over with a disapproving look.
Mitch knew it was not worth running from the deputy; one of the disadvantages to living in such a small community was that Harris knew him, and knew where he lived and hung out. He eased the off-road bike over to the SUV, and lowered the kickstand.
“How can I help you, _Deputy Harris_?”

Robert sighed, “You can _start_ by getting off of Mrs. Jackson’s back 80, then we can move on to you wearing your helmet while you’re riding, and after that, we can talk about you staying off of peoples’ property with your bike.”

Mitch looked at the exasperated deputy, “This is about Claudia, isn’t it?”

“No, Mitch,” Robert answered, “this is about you respecting the law, and peoples’ property, THAT can get you in trouble when someone finally decides to press charges. You dating my sister can get you shot in the face, and buried in a gully somewhere. Now… get outta here, before Mrs. Jackson decides to press charges.” 

Mitch raised the kickstand, and kicked his bike back on, and headed out toward the road.

“*And stay off of peoples’ property!*” Harris yelled after him. Mitch raised his hand, whether to acknowledge the order, or to blow the deputy off, Robert couldn’t be certain. He just shook his head, got back in the service vehicle, and drove back to the station, taking an extra few minutes to patrol the streets, and listen to old man MacGregor tell him the story (_again_) about storming some beach or other during World War II, and how he was reminded of it, years later, as a Major, in Korea when they were making a landing, to establish a beachhead. 
Deputy Harris smiled, laughed at the appropriate spots, nodded, and seemed to pay close attention at all the requisite points in the story. Having been in the Marine Corps, himself, he fervently hoped he wouldn’t be one of the old soldiers telling about Kosovo, and Bosnia, and ducking potshots by random villagers in the Middle East. 
Robert parked the SUV and went to his desk, pulling out action reports with a sigh, rubbing his temples, and writing up the latest complaints about Mitch.

Elsewhere…​.

Deidre Jones moved through the night, sleeping during the day, moving at top speed when she could properly see. It was simply too bright during the day for her to make good time. Without extremely dark shades, she would end up tripping over anything on the ground. 
Night was better for her, anyway, a quick flash of white hair was all anyone would see of her, her ebony skin, and dark BDUs hiding her movement. She had lost her hat somewhere a week back, while being pursued by Canadian Intelligence Agents, but she hadn’t survived the past nearly 60 years by being careless. Nearly 30 years in the military of a country heavy on wooded areas had taught her to move through an area without leaving much of a trail. It helped that she was naturally light on her feet, and faster than the vast majority of her former comrades. Moving at top speed, she suddenly stopped, cocking her head, and listening intently. Just what she wanted to hear: traffic. She couldn’t be more than a kilometer from a road. 
Picking her way to the road, she stayed off of it, until there was no traffic, then darted across. Deidre headed south, on foot for the rest of the night, and slept during the day. When she started out, again, she only traveled another two hours before coming across a petrol station. She watched the station for another hour, to make sure it wasn’t under surveillance, before entering, and moving quickly to the rear of the station. She found a scarf on a rack, removed the tag, and wrapped her hair in it, before picking out a few high calorie snacks, and a cola, along with some beef jerky, a few packs of hard candies, and two bottles of water. 
She wandered up to the counter, paying for all of her items, (including the scarf, just in case the cashier saw her grab it), and went out, and back off the road, into the woods, and then around to the north of the store, watching, and waiting. 
As she suspected, a black sedan pulled into the lot at high speed, and two suited men quickly entered the store, stayed for a few moments, rushed back out to the vehicle, and tore off down the road to the south, followed in short order by a military helicopter with a search light scanning the woods to the south of her position, and slowly going that direction. 
She decided to sleep where she was.
The next day, she approached a man in an 18 wheeler, asking if he’d give her a ride. He was a bit leery at first, but then the novelty of a beautiful young black woman asking if she could ride with him overcame his reluctance. Deidre rode with him, making light conversation and veiled flirtatious remarks, headed west for two days before she slipped off into the night, going south into the U.S.A. from an unwatched direction. Now to find a military base….

To be continued…​


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## ledded (Dec 19, 2003)

Lola said:
			
		

> *_pauses from adding Red Hots candies to popcorn to accept flask from ledded. Adds just enough to coke to give it a kick. Then opens package of twizzlers to complete the movie watching junk food triumvirate._*



<settles into his seat quietly, giving a quick mental nod to Lola's commanding knowledge of the holy trinity of filmgoing sustenance before enjoying the continuting show>

Good update Mr Baize.  I like the way the initial setup is shaping up.


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## C. Baize (Dec 19, 2003)

Thanks! 
This is actually a two-fold thing, here. We've only had a couple of sessions with it, but the build-up to it needs to be explained so that everyone knows WHY things have gone as they've gone. My players are pretty excited about the campaign though, so when I start story houring the sessions, I should be able to do those, once a week or so. 
Glad you're enjoying it, thus far, it's about to start taking some darker turns, in about... 4 updates... or thereabouts.


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## Shewolf (Dec 19, 2003)

C. Baize said:
			
		

> My players are pretty excited about the campaign though, so when I start story houring the sessions, I should be able to do those, once a week or so.




Yes...
Yes we are


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## C. Baize (Dec 19, 2003)

Shewolf said:
			
		

> Yes...
> Yes we are




Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for the author of "Modern Backdrops". 

*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*
*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*


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## ledded (Dec 19, 2003)

C. Baize said:
			
		

> Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for the author of "Modern Backdrops".
> 
> *clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*
> *clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*



Hear, Hear! 

<whistle> <whistle> 

*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*
*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*

Bravo!

A nice piece of work, that Modern Backdrops.


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## LichKicker (Dec 19, 2003)

*I need a Fix*

Just wanted to let you know that the GSGT is itching for a little action...


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## Lola (Dec 19, 2003)

> “this is about you respecting the law, and peoples’ property, THAT can get you in trouble when someone finally decides to press charges. You dating my sister can get you shot in the face, and buried in a gully somewhere




I love this StoryHour already!   You really wrote it well, Baize. Can't wait for more.

Oh, and if you keep sneaking looks at my twizzlers, you'll end up stuffed in a cupholder. You know who you are.


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## Mista Collins (Dec 19, 2003)

*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*
*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*
*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*
*clap**clap**clap**clap**clap**clap*

<looking at Lola and her candy> So, what is a lady like you doing in a theater like this?

<moves to the seat next to her> Now, how about some candy?

Great Story Hour. Can't wait for more.


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## Broccli_Head (Dec 19, 2003)

I'm in! Thought I was too late to join it early, but hey... only 4 real posts! 

should be interesting how all the PCs get together. It's looking like _28 days later _ blended with _Twillight:2000_!!

Excited for what comes next!


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## ledded (Dec 19, 2003)

Lola said:
			
		

> <snip>
> 
> Oh, and if you keep sneaking looks at my *twizzlers*...



So *that's* what the kids are calling 'em nowadays?

<notices Mista Collins take a seat, glances at a cupholder, decides to slouch down and mind his own business>


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## Lola (Dec 19, 2003)

*_Sticks Mista Collins to gum-encrusted underside of seats on the other side of the theatre. Bounces kernel off ledded's head._*


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## Mista Collins (Dec 19, 2003)

<knowing the nastiness of chewed gum on the bottoms of the seats from the years of cleaning theaters, he uses his Gum Removal skill and tears himself off>

<sits back down, this time next to ledded hoping to catch all the popcorn Lola throws at him before it hits the ground>

<mumbling to himself> Movies cost to much these days... a man can't afford to eat anymore.

<pouts>   



> I'm in! Thought I was too late to join it early, but hey... only 4 real posts!




Everyone hear that! He doesn't think what we say is real! How dare him!


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## Pierce (Dec 20, 2003)

Mista Collins said:
			
		

> <sits back down, this time next to ledded hoping to catch all the popcorn Lola throws at him before it hits the ground>
> 
> <mumbling to himself> Movies cost to much these days... a man can't afford to eat anymore.




Hey don't neglect the "five second rule".  Eh, I might tighten that down to three seconds in a movie theater.



> Everyone hear that! He doesn't think what we say is real! How dare him!




*pierceatwork unloads the empty beer can from his hat and pegs the unbeliever in the big ole _Broccli_Head_.*

Yo *Tellerve*!  Reload!


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## Mista Collins (Dec 20, 2003)

> Originally Posted by *pierceatwork*
> _Hey don't neglect the "five second rule". Eh, I might tighten that down to three seconds in a movie theater._




Oh believe me. The 5 second rule is never in affect at a movie theater. I have been employeed at a theater for 5 years. I know what we don't do when cleaning theaters.   

But this story hour is one of my favorites and it has just begun. Wish I could join the gaming sessions for this. Good set up. Keep them coming.


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## Broccli_Head (Dec 20, 2003)

pierceatwork said:
			
		

> *pierceatwork unloads the empty beer can from his hat and pegs the unbeliever in the big ole _Broccli_Head_.*
> 
> Yo *Tellerve*!  Reload!




*"Hey! Watch the Hair"* calls BH turning around to see who threw the can.

*"Ummm, you gotta full one of those?"*

...waiting anxiously for next installment...


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## ledded (Dec 22, 2003)

Lola said:
			
		

> *_Sticks Mista Collins to gum-encrusted underside of seats on the other side of the theatre. Bounces kernel off ledded's head._*





*sheepishly grinning, subtly holds up flask again, and snowcaps, as peace offering, before she does something very nasty, painful, and wasteful with a twizzler*



			
				Mista Collins said:
			
		

> <sits back down, this time next to ledded hoping to catch all the popcorn Lola throws at him before it hits the ground>



*watches in amusement as kernels stick to the gum remnants in his hair; decides pettily not to tell him about them*



> <mumbling to himself> Movies cost to much these days... a man can't afford to eat anymore.



sigh... *offers Mista Collins some popcorn and near empty flask*



			
				pierceatwork said:
			
		

> *pierceatwork unloads the empty beer can from his hat and pegs the unbeliever in the big ole _Broccli_Head_.*
> 
> Yo *Tellerve*! Reload!



  Wheeee!!!!



			
				Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *"Hey! Watch the Hair"* calls BH *turning around to see who threw the can.
> 
> *"Ummm, you gotta full one of those?"*
> *



**...catching ledded's overexcited response, the flask, in the forehead*

"Oops, er, sorry there... got a little worked up. Heh."*


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## Mista Collins (Dec 23, 2003)

> sigh... *offers Mista Collins some popcorn and near empty flask*




Thanks man. 

<picks some gum out of his hair and holds it in his outstretched hand, offering it to ledded>

Care for some gum? It is quite fresh.


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## Mista Collins (Dec 23, 2003)

double post


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## Mista Collins (Dec 23, 2003)

triple post (i hate slow connections)


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## C. Baize (Dec 23, 2003)

Working on another update... should be up, in a few hours.


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## C. Baize (Dec 23, 2003)

Associated Press said:
			
		

> December 12th, 2002. Associated Press - Staff Writer James Calhoun.
> 
> *Canadian Prime Minister Takes Hard Line On Nationalism*
> In a stunning move, Canadian Prime Minister d’Gorthar calls for a vote for complete Canadian separation from the U.K.
> “We have been lead by the hand for quite long enough,” d’Gorthar said in his rallying speech, “and it is high time that we stood on our own, without having to be upheld by Britain, or the U.S.” State Department officials declined to comment on this apparent slight to American support for Canada.




President Bush put down his paper, and took a drink of coffee. "Why didn't somebody _tell_ me that Canadian was so un-American? That other guy... Cretin... or whatever... He was bad enough with his limp wristed policies... now I got this jerk talkin' anti-American crap... Hell... guess I needa go talk ta John." Bush sighed and went to meet with his advisor.

_Elsewhere_​
Sergeant Wolfham hated Bosnia. He hated Kosovo, but he never hated either of those, like he hated Afghanistan, right now. Getting dressed down, and facing possible courtmartial for firing back at a bunch of insurgents, while on recon patrol. 
Now being dressed down by a Colonel... this is NOT fun.
Colonel Rehne: "Were you cleared to fire that weapon, Sergeant?"
Wolfham: "No, SIR!"
Rehne: "What prompted you to go beyond the scope of your duty, _Sergeant_?"
Wolfham: "Sir! When I came under fire, I figured that in order to complete my mission, and return with recon intel, I had to survive! I felt the intel was more important than maintaining absolute no contact... SIR!"
Rehne: "I see. You need to go requisition a new set of stripes... _Corporal_. Dismissed."

Busted down to Corporal... 
Wolfham hated Afghanistan.
Captain Roger Holmes watched the young man enter the infirmary, noted the bloody rips in the BDUs, and the look on the face that said he was about to cry, but wouldn't allow himself.
CPL Wolfham sat down on the bunk and removed his BDU shirt, and tactical vest, showing several lacerations, bruises, and one cauterized wound on the arm. 
"Tracers?" Cpt. Holmes asked.
"What? Oh... yeah... er.. yes sir." Cpl Wolfham answered.
"Was it worth it, Sergeant?" 
"Corporal, sir. And yes sir..." Wolfham got a far off look in his eyes, "Yes it was.... sir."
The Marines sat the rest of the time in silence, as Captain Holmes treated the young man's injuries. 

The Corporal left, and Captain Holmes was left with the impression that the boy had seen something that scared him. Scared him beyond fear for his own life, beyond fear for his Recon Unit... What could scare a Marine so? 

_Three days later..._​
Captain Holmes and Corporal Wolfham returned from a supply run, nearing the encampment, they could hear none of the usual radio chatter, though they attempted to raise the base, several times, on several channels. Growing decidedly troubled, they halted well outside the basecamp, and crept to the top of a dune, scoping the situation with binoculars. 
The sight that met their gaze made their hearts sink. The gates were crashed, with the guard towers destroyed, and wreckage and destruction as far inside the base as they could make out.
They jumped back in the hummer, and sped to the base, Captain Holmes driving, and Corporal Wolfham manning a SAW, watching for hostile forces.

"Do you notice something strange, Corporal?" Holmes asked his companion?
"You mean, other than the fact that there's no smoke, and no bodies?" the Corporal asked.

Entering tents, and checking under vehicles, the duo checked for survivors. Stopping, from time to time to speculate as to the source of the very strange gashes in the armor of the tanks, and hummers, pools of blood, and lack of corpses. Many times they would come across dozens of spent brass cartridges, but never did they find any corpses, or weapons; nor could they see where anyone was drug off.
Wolfham sat with his head in his hands... he could almost hear the laughter.... that .... insane.... laughter....

_Elsewhere_​
Sitting behind the big desk, he looked up as a man entered his office.
"Ah... General Sharkey. Do be seated."
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Prime Minister?" the general asked.
"Yes," d'Gorthar answered, "How is the progress on project Coldwalk?"
"Err.. I did send a report, Mr. Prime Minister." the general said. And when the prime minister glared, "It is all going according to schedule. The team is working on the modifications you indicated, and they seem to be having moderate success in the preliminary trials."
d'Gorthar cocked an eyebrow, "I expect better than 'moderate success', general. Are we clear?"
"Yes sir," the general answered, "we _are_ clear."

To be continued.


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## C. Baize (Dec 23, 2003)

In a couple of weeks, I'll post d'Gorthar, and Sharkey in the Rogues Gallery.


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## Lola (Dec 24, 2003)

OOOOH!   This is sooo worth admission.


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## Tellerve (Dec 24, 2003)

*shuffles cold ones to those in need and settles back into his seat.*

Indeed this is worth the price of admission.  I certainly am quite happy with the way you've written our Master in Command.  And Canada being well, not how I'd imagine them ever being.

Tellerve


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## Mista Collins (Dec 24, 2003)

I do enjoy how you are writting Canada. It would be scary to think of them so anti-American being my driveway is seriously 3 minutes from the border. Keep up the good writting.


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## Pierce (Dec 24, 2003)

Whee!  Evil Canadians!  Very cool!


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## GSGT_Chuck_Jackson (Dec 24, 2003)

*Great work*

Just keep up the good work, and lets keep them comming back for more.


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## thatdarncat (Dec 24, 2003)

pierceatwork said:
			
		

> Whee!  Evil Canadians!  Very cool!




muahahahahahahahaha... umm... err... I mean "eh?"


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## jonrog1 (Dec 27, 2003)

pierceatwork said:
			
		

> Whee!  Evil Canadians!  Very cool!




Don't be silly!  Canadians certainly do _not_ have contingency plans and back-ups in case the Yanks go after our clean, clean water  when the Colorado reserves go dry  and covet the massive hydro plants already providing  90% of the NorthEastern power grid ...

Just remember, when the fundammentalists finally take over, here in the Canadian refugee compounds, we have all the legalized pot, gay marriage and 7% alcohol beer you could want!


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## omnimpotent (Dec 29, 2003)

Yes, we Canadians are not strong beer and hockey pucks.  Cross us, and it's biohorror zombie reckoning time!  [waggles fingers mysteriously]


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## Eyas (Dec 29, 2003)

<mubles about traffic and quietly takes a seat next to ledded>

So...what did I miss?


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## ledded (Dec 29, 2003)

Eyas said:
			
		

> <mubles about traffic and quietly takes a seat next to ledded>
> 
> So...what did I miss?



*offers 2nd flask to Eyas, with a quick glance back at Lola and the still-reeling *Broccli_Head**

"Sssshh, I wouldnt attract too much attention..."

Great story so far. Scary canadians... I bet it's all those Quebecians... Quebecers... Quebecalists... oh never mind, those guys from Quebec


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## GreyShadow (Dec 30, 2003)

mmmm.... very interesting.

fades back into shadows.


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## C. Baize (Dec 30, 2003)

Will try like crazy to get the next installment up tomorrow (30 December, where I am.  )


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## Pierce (Dec 30, 2003)

*pierceatwork cheers while draining his second beer*

yay!  I'm off tomorrow, so I'll sit here hitting the refresh button until your update shows up.  I got nuttin' better to do.

_Yo, *Tellerve*!  Need another refill! *chunks empty over his shoulder*_


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## Tellerve (Dec 30, 2003)

*downs the dregs of his last one and gets another for himself and pierceatwork.*

Yeah!! Upcoming installment!

Tellerve


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## Pierce (Dec 30, 2003)

*click* refresh.... *click* refresh.....  *click* refresh..... *click* ref- oh thanks for the cold beer, T!  *click* refresh... *click* refresh.........


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## Tellerve (Dec 30, 2003)

yup, *nods a 'no problem'*

*click* refresh....  *click* refresh... hmm, I think my mouse is broken or the moon is too close, or someone has abducted C. Baize!

Tellerve


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## C. Baize (Dec 31, 2003)

*Americanarchy [Updated 12-30-03]*



			
				Associated Press said:
			
		

> January 23rd, 2003. Associated Press - Staff Writer James Calhoun.
> 
> *Canadian Prime Minister Blasts The United States For “Decadent and Harmful Lifestyle”*
> Just weeks after polarizing Canadians to stand independently in the world community, Canadian Prime Minister d’Gorthar speaks out on American lifestyles, calling them “…decadent, and worse, harmful to the world as a community…” d’Gorthar went on to verbally bombard American politicians for “…allowing the pollution in the air, and in the water to infect the rest of the world with what amounts to the sewage of American industry…” State Department officials expressed concern regarding the outright attacks on the E.P.A., and regulatory policies.




“Son of a…” President Bush slammed his morning paper onto the large table, “What the hell is goin’ on? Why’s this sombitch talkin’ this crap? Somebody better be gettin’ me some damn information!”
Mr. Hoskins fidgeted nervously, “Mr. President… ehhh… the Canadians are growing increasingly more tight-lipped toward us, and are really not telling us much of anything.”
“Well,” president Bush started, glaring at his aide, “you’d best find somethin’ that’ll get ‘em ta talk, and do it damned quick. I wanna know jus’ what the hell is goin’ on, up there, an’ I wanna know _yesterday_, do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear, sir.” Hoskins answered.
The presidential aide watched as Bush walked away toward the Oval Office. 

_Elsewhere_​
“Mr. Prime Minister… Jacques!” general Sharkey yelled after the prime minister, “Sir… I’d like to speak to you, privately, sir.”
“Very well, General… My office. Now.” d’Gorthar and General Sharkey walked in silence to the office.
Sharkey opened the door, then closed and locked it, as the prime minister sat at his desk.
“Sir,” the general began, “success! Your modifications were a success, and when combined with the chemical and bio agents, have produced… unprecedented results, sir.” The general was nearly beside himself with excitement, “Sir… I’ve never seen results like this… never dreamed it was truly possible, and nearly complete neural breakdown in the subjects.”
“That is good news, general,” the prime minister allowed a glimmer of a smile to cross his face, “good news, indeed, general. How soon before we can put Project Coldwalk into effect?”
“Well, sir… while we … _could_ put it into effect, tomorrow,” Sharkey stammered, “I don’t believe we are truly prepared.”
“No, general,” d’Gorthar answered, “not quite yet. There are a few more minor details to complete. You’re dismissed.”
General Sharkey left to view the results of the project, leaving the prime minister to his politics.
Prime Minister d’Gorthar pushed the intercom button, “Sheila, get me in contact with President Hu Jintao, and President Putin, and start the process of getting me in contact with Mr. Castro.”
d’Gorthar released the intercom button, and smiled, “MMmmm…. This is turning out to be a _very_ good day.” He turned and stared out his window. “Details…. details…”

_Elsewhere_​
GSGT Jackson spoke into his comm device, “Any idea what our target is?”
“None,” SSGT McEvoy answered, “we’ll be briefed when we get there, sir.”
“You ever seen any damn stripes on my arm? I work for a living, sergeant.” Jackson told him. He could see SSGT McEvoy laughing in the forward Hummer, and suppressed the urge to give him the finger. 
Upon reaching the rendezvous point, CPL Wolfham saluted the Sergeants and held it until they returned the salute. 
GSGT Jackson addressed him, “Corporal, my orders tell me that you’re to brief me on the particulars of the mission.”

_45 Minutes Later_​
“You’ve GOT to be kidding me, corporal, there’s no way.” GSGT Jackson looked incredulous. “You need to get a CAT scan… quick. Maybe some shore leave… Man, I know this hooker in Oahu… she’ll get your head on straight, man.”
CPL Wolfham stood at attention, “Gunny, I know how this sounds… believe me… If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I know I wouldn’t believe a word of it, Sergeant, but this is no bull story. Captain Holmes can confirm parts of it that he witnessed. Gunny, these …. things… …. I never saw anything like them, sergeant. Apparently, command wants one with minimal collateral damage to the corpse, or they’d call in a full strike, is my guess.”
GSGT Jackson and SSGT McEvoy exchanged glances. 
Jackson sighed. “Alright, well, if these are our orders, then that’s what we’re doing. Let’s go, Mac.”

_To be continued._


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## Tellerve (Dec 31, 2003)

*click* refresh....err Ahhh AHH! WEEEE!!

*reads*

mhmm, Lovely!  Go Canada, lol.  Man, I so terribly want to play in a campaign like this.  *sigh* maybe I can just steal the idea near wholesale and try and run it here for people.  Great job C. Baize

Tellerve


----------



## BrooklynKnight (Dec 31, 2003)

*considers running an NYC game*


----------



## Tellerve (Dec 31, 2003)

*raises an eyebrow*

Interesting...

Tellerve


----------



## BrooklynKnight (Dec 31, 2003)

Tellerve said:
			
		

> *raises an eyebrow*
> 
> Interesting...
> 
> Tellerve





I KNEW that would get a reaction out of you!
But really, i have been itching to run a d20modern or FR game for a while.


----------



## Tellerve (Dec 31, 2003)

I knew you were fishing too, and I totally took the bait.  I'm debating between the amazing desire to play versus DM.  If only I had a clone!  LOL.

But seriously, umm, you should do a modern d20 campaign, not that tired FR stuff 

Tellerve


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## Eyas (Dec 31, 2003)

C. Baize said:
			
		

> _To be continued._




Ohhh.....must have more.


----------



## red eyed antipaladin (Jan 3, 2004)

*Enters, stumbles around trying to find an empty seat in the dark. Eventually settles for sitting in aisle.*

Oh, good, the intro isn't over yet.


----------



## Eyas (Jan 5, 2004)

red eyed antipaladin said:
			
		

> Oh, good, the intro isn't over yet.




No, not yet, but they seem to be having projection problems. If they don't get it re-started soon, we may have to take measures


----------



## GSGT_Chuck_Jackson (Jan 5, 2004)

Eyas said:
			
		

> No, not yet, but they seem to be having projection problems. If they don't get it re-started soon, we may have to take measures




Things should start soon, as one of the lead actors in this drama i can tell you that things are going along just fine, and should be rolling soon.


----------



## Shewolf (Jan 5, 2004)

*Intermission*

Following how everyone is anxiously awaiting the next installment, I wanted to let everyone know that C. Baize and I are both in kind of a funk after some not-so-great news... 

Today is just an off-day...  Soon, though, we will be back to our regularly scheduled showing...


----------



## ledded (Jan 5, 2004)

Shewolf said:
			
		

> Following how everyone is anxiously awaiting the next installment, I wanted to let everyone know that C. Baize and I are both in kind of a funk after some not-so-great news...
> 
> Today is just an off-day... Soon, though, we will be back to our regularly scheduled showing...



*sit patiently munching popcorn and adds more Makers Mark from flask into his coke*

"I'm sure they'll get it fixed soon enough... ya'll calm down.  Here, have a shot o' this..."

And a quick aside... now I know that I *am* somebody, because I made it into someone's Sig!!! Thanks Shewolf


----------



## kipling (Jan 8, 2004)

Mista Collins said:
			
		

> I do enjoy how you are writing Canada. It would be scary to think of them so anti-American being my driveway is seriously 3 minutes from the border. Keep up the good writting.




Hell, I'm enjoying how he's writing Canada, and I live on the other side of the border from you. Doesn't sound like Prime Minister Martin, so perhaps there's a hint we're not exactly as portrayed in this Story Hour.

(Good work, X29; your additional payment will be in the mail!)

And take your time--I'm enjoying it, but take time to grieve for whatever it is.

Kipling, sidling over with a glance at the others.


----------



## Broccli_Head (Jan 8, 2004)

Can someone _please_ fix the projector?


----------



## C. Baize (Jan 9, 2004)

Sorry, guys... A friend of mine died... I'll get it back on track real soon. Will try for an update Friday, Jan 9.


----------



## Lola (Jan 9, 2004)

In that case Baize, take all the time you need. Don't worry about us.


----------



## Broccli_Head (Jan 9, 2004)

Sorry to hear about your loss...we'll wait patiently.


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## Pierce (Jan 9, 2004)

My condolences as well.  Again, don't worry about us - we'll keep ourselves entertained.




*Throws another empty beer can at Broccli_head*  *PING*


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## Broccli_Head (Jan 9, 2004)

*"Hey!" If you're gonna through a beer can, you could at least toss a full one"*


----------



## Pierce (Jan 9, 2004)

*"I'm not the one with the full beers - that's Tellerve!  I merely wear the beer hat.  Hey, while we're in an intermission, I'll make a beer run.  Save my seat!"  _With that, Pierce jumps up and runs out of the theater.  Everyone in the place hears a loud engine roar to life and the squeal of tires._*


----------



## ledded (Jan 9, 2004)

*takes a look around at all the people sitting near him*

"Hey, somebody save my seat, be right back"

*Pings Broccoli_Head in his big ole Broccoli_Head with an empty coke cup, catches up with Pierce as he's running out*

"Dude, grab me another pint while you're out, ok?"

*Strolls off to buy another coke and find a bathroom*


Take all the time you need Baize, we will be patient. Sorry to hear of your loss.


----------



## Lola (Jan 10, 2004)

Tell me when intermission is over, I'll be out hitting on the cute ticket taker. If you can't find me, nevermind, I'll be along later....


----------



## C. Baize (Jan 15, 2004)

Alrighty. 
I'll be working on an update tomorrow, hopefully it'll be up tomorrow early afternoon, my time (Pacific Coast). 
Sorry for the delay, thank you for your patience during this unscheduled intermission.


*Focussing the projector*


----------



## robberbaron (Jan 15, 2004)

Pokes head round curtain after hearing the intro music.
Sees beer cans and popcorn flying and sits on an upturned bin just inside the theatre, sipping what passes for a diet coke.

Hmm, looks interesting. Evil Canadians (my favourite kind), dim American President (now, where did they get that from?) and nasty rippy things in Afghanistan......
worth sticking around for, I think.


----------



## Pierce (Jan 15, 2004)

_Another screech of tires can be heard outside, then Pierce comes staggering in with two cases of Bud tallboys_

Ok, this should get us thru the next few pages....


----------



## ledded (Jan 15, 2004)

Pierce said:
			
		

> _Another screech of tires can be heard outside, then Pierce comes staggering in with two cases of Bud tallboys_
> 
> Ok, this should get us thru the next few pages....



*is returning to his seat with fresh popcorn and coke and runs into Pierce hurrying down the isle, helps him with a case*

"Hey man, didja get my pint?"


----------



## Pierce (Jan 15, 2004)

"Yep.  Right there in my back pocket."


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## Tellerve (Jan 15, 2004)

*eyes open excitedly as he makes room in the cooler for the new beer.  Settles back and slides Pierceatwork some greenbacks, and then settles into the seat again.  A soft ppffftss can be heard followed buy a coupld long glugs*

Tellerve


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## C. Baize (Jan 18, 2004)

*Update! Finally! 17 Jan. 2004.*

Deirdre relaxed in the quarters provided to her by her hosts, in exchange for her knowledge regarding Canada and what she knew of their plans. While she had first come into contact with the U.S. Military at Hector Field, in North Carolina, she was now quartered at Cheyenne Mountain, where she was being debriefed – again- and undergoing testing to see if she was transmitting any sort of signal from any hidden devices. With the strained relations between the two countries, she didn’t really blame the Americans for their apparent paranoia. 
Deirdre cooperated in every way. She submitted to X-Rays, CAT scans, MRIs, and a plethora of other technical scans and tests. She was, however, somewhat amused at the American doctors’ attempts to medically explain the shape of her ears, and her blood type, which matched nothing they’d ever come into contact with, up to that point. When the military ‘brass’ would speak to her, in debriefings, she was certain they thought she was holding back, though. At first, they were unable to believe she was nearly 60 years old, when she told them that, as near as she could piece together, she remembered waking up, one morning in the fall of 1943, somewhere in Philadelphia. She clearly remembered waking up, and what season it was, but she was unable to remember how to speak, and had no memory of her life up _to_ that point. She was only able to piece it together, Deirdre had told them, through her research of the times, and events going on at the time. 
_Deirdre idly wondered what it would take to join the military in America, and rise to officer status….
Politicians with military background seemed to command more respect, in America, after all._ 
Her thoughts were drawn back to the present by the questioning.
Major Quentin stared at her, narrowing his eyes, “So. Miss Jones. You …. _woke up_ in Philadelphia… you couldn’t speak… yet you ended up in Canada, in Canadian _Military_ no less… How do you explain this?”
Deirdre met his gaze, unwavering, “I spent the first few months, living off of scraps I could find in garbage bins, Sir, and I was making my way north, for no particular reason, that I can think of. I watched people… listened to them… I picked up a few phrases in English, and I found that men had the most money back then, and kept it in their wallets, in their breast pockets, or in the back pocket of their pants. 
“It was relatively simple to acquire the wallets and mimic what I had seen others do. I picked out food, and clothing, then traded it for the paper that was in the wallets. Yes, sir, I was a thief, a common street rat, until I was taken in by a couple in New York, Dr. Claudius Jones, and his wife Camilla. A wonderful black couple. Dr. Jones was a medical practitioner, and he worked with crazies. They taught me to speak English, and how to survive, and deal with people. In 1952, after being with them for several years, we had a falling out, and I left. In 1973, I wished to come back into contact with them, and tracked them down, where they had moved in Canada… Toronto, to be specific… 
“Well… Here it was, 29 years after they had originally taken me in… eh… it took me a while to track them down… and while they had grown quite old, I did not appear to have aged, at all. Dr., and Mrs. Jones were devout Christians, you see, and after having the falling out and then showing back up, looking just the same… Well… They contacted government authorities, unbeknownst to me, and they showed up, and took me into custody. They did a lot of tests on me, and eventually, I ended up in the service, and stayed there. 
“This ended up being beneficial for myself and Canada, as I could move about, and had rights and freedoms, and they could keep tabs on me, and keep me where they wanted me. Well… a good relationship can, apparently only last so long. I started hearing rumors, and then seeing how our new Prime Minister was toward America… Look… I’m not a fool. I know that if push comes to shove, Canada can’t take America, we’re simply not equipped for it. I see no use staying on a sinking ship, you understand?.”
Major Quentin ordered one of his subordinates to run a check on a Dr. Claudius Jones, and verify her story. 
In the meantime, Miss Jones was to remain in her quarters, until further notice…

_Elsewhere_​
Prime Minister d’Gorthar addressed his top ranking aide, with a mix of boyish anticipation, and almost manic seriousness, “Raymond… It is time to put operation Coldwalk into effect.”
“Yes, Mr. Prime Minster.” General Sharkey answered.
“Our American contacts are prepared to do what is necessary? They know what eventuality will befall them?” the Prime Minister asked.
“Of course, sir, they feel the price is well worth the outcome, sir.”
“Then it is time.” d’Gorthar looked out through his window, “Yes…. It is time.”

_Yet elsewhere_​Mitch sat on his bike, looking over the outcropping of rock, where he had stopped. The early morning light fog crept slowly, and eerily through the trees below, giving Mitch his favorite view. He loved this spot, especially this time of day. Just him and the mist. No houses, no car alarms, no barking dogs, and no deputy Harris to ruin everything. 
He looked over the drop… No new undergrowth, or fallen rocks, and the trail down looked clear as far as he could see, before being lost in the mist. 
Mitch zipped up his riding jacket, and pulled the knit cap over his ears, and kicked his offroad bike into life. He turned around, and went back about thirty feet, then turned his bike around again… He loved this.
The young man settled into his seat, and gunned the throttle, spinning his rear tire, until it caught good traction, and thrusting forward, onto the rock ledge, and into the air, allowing the bike to come away from his body, a few inches before impacting with the ground. He kept the throttle pegged, letting it up, only to hit the clutch, and change gears, as he raced down the trail, through the mist and between trees and rocks, at all the speed he could coax out of his bike.
Mitch could think of no better way to start a day, than an adrenaline rush that came from this sort of ride, at breakneck speeds down a thin trail in thickening fog.
The high pitched whine of the bike’s engine cut like a knife through the still of the mountain morning, startling sleeping animals into a short frightened flight. Mitch kept the throttle pegged, taking short jumps, and sliding turns in the trail, as fast as he was able. 
He was coming to his favorite part of the bike trail, the nice wide creek that he would jump, due to the natural bank on either side of it. The sound of the engine and the wind the only things he could hear, he started on the straightaway leading to the creek. Hunched over, to reduce his wind resistance, and get just a tad more speed out of his bike, he could see the bank… and…. what? A kid? A child … climbing up onto the bank! 
Mitch let go of the throttle, and grabbed the brakes, trying to turn the bike away from the path of the child. He couldn’t hold it. The bike hit the ground, and Mitch along with it, rolling, and then straightening into a slide… he saw the frightened look on the child’s face, as the kid fell off the bank, then he felt the ground go away, beneath him… Mitch felt the cold shock of the water, just before he felt something hit his head, and then something relatively heavy and hard landed on top of him… 
_Two days later_​Mitch could smell the antiseptic in the air, and felt the bed beneath him… 
He tried to ask where he was, “Mmmmf… uhh…” was all he could manage… Didn’t know why he was asking anyway, he knew he was in the hospital. He was immediately glad that he wasn’t able to get his question out, he felt that would sound stupid. 
Deputy Harris walked in, after hearing the sound coming from Mitch’s room. 
“How ya feelin’, man?” Robert asked him.
Mitch looked over, groaned, and then looked again. Harris wasn’t in uniform. “What, man? What do you want?”
Robert chuckled, “Just wanted to know how you’re feeling. Simple question, really.”
Mitch eyed him, warily, noting with a grunt, that only one of his eyes would open, “Tip top, man. Why? You gonna arrest me?”
Harris shook his head, “Look, kid, I’m not even on duty, alright? Lighten up. Thought you might want to know… You missed the kid… he fell back into the creek. His dad pulled the bike off the top of you, and kept you from drowning. I don’t know where you get your luck, man, but some day it’s going to run out… I’d quit pushing it if I were you.”
“Yeah?” Mitch asked… “Well… I’d shave that weasel off my lip if _I_ were _you_… Go away man… my head hurts.” 
Robert shook his head, and walked out…
Mitch closed his eyes, silently happy that he didn’t hurt anyone but himself… a single tear finding its way down his face, and into his hair…

_To be continued_​


----------



## C. Baize (Jan 18, 2004)

**** OFF TOPIC ****

Sorry for the delay, guys... As a bonus, I'm working on the next update, already... 

Stupid real life things... 

Just so you guys know... If you're working on a vehicle... catching it on fire is not conducive to FIXING it! 

All behold the horror of C. Baize doing mechanic work!

**** /OFF TOPIC ****


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## Tellerve (Jan 18, 2004)

wee update!

Ok, question.  Deirdre says she's "almost" 60, but obviously when she wakes up almost 60 years ago, she isn't 0 years old, instead she sounds like maybe she's a teenager.  Or does she say she's 60 in that is the extent of her memory?

Tellerve


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## C. Baize (Jan 18, 2004)

She says something about having survived the last almost 60 years.  
That's all the memory she has... One would assume she doesn't think she simply sprang into being, but her memory begins in the fall of 1943, no snippets, not even flashes or glimpses of anything prior...


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## Tellerve (Jan 18, 2004)

yeah, i figured that was what it was, and obviously since she hasn't aged she can't readily determine how old she was when she awoke.  Hence, almost 60 is as good as any designation.

Tellerve


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## Eyas (Jan 20, 2004)

*settling deeper into the seat* Great show! Could I get a beer?


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## Tellerve (Jan 21, 2004)

*picks a cold one out and brushes off some of the ice before handing it over the seats to Eyas*

Tellerve


----------



## C. Baize (Jan 29, 2004)

_In the Iraqi Desert_​
GSGT. Jackson sat in his hole, covered by his ghillie suit, waiting for his coordinates.
“You’re aware,” Jackson whispered into his tac-comm, “that we’re looking to bag some vulture headed, giant Junebug, right?”
SSGT. McEvoy whispered back, “Roger that. It’s orders, Gunny. That’s it. Orders. Just like any orders we’ve had. We have our target, we’ll get our target. It’s all that matters, Gunny… All that’s ever mattered.”
The two sergeants waited in silence. 
After several hours in silence, Jackson’s tac-comm crackled, “Gunny,” McEvoy whispered into the mic, “I have activity.” 
“Negative target, Gunny, Iraqis with a crate… Looks like they’re digging in the sand, now.” SSGT McEvoy told him.
Jackson answered back, “Roger that, keep an eye on them, see if you can spot what’s in the box, what they’re digging up, could be valuable recon, Mac.”
“Roger that: watch the box.”, crackled back into GSGT Jackson’s earpiece.
“Holy! … Gunny… the box is full of bones… human bones. I count … nine skulls… Looks like there’s still some shreds of … cloth, or flesh on random bones… Hold… switching to the high powered scope.” McEvoy reported.
“Confirm the number of skulls, let’s be exact, sergeant.” Jackson told him.
“Roger that… Confirmed. I see nine skulls, that’s a niner. Confirm the flesh, and.. or cloth… Hold… Uhhmmm… Gunny… some of the bones are broke, and some have chunks torn out of them. Repeat, chunks _torn_ out of them, negative on cuts, something’s been at them.” McEvoy told him.
“Roger… Watch for our target.” Jackson instructed.
“Copy that.”
They waited the rest of the day in silence, until McEvoy whispered into the tac-comm after the sun had set and the waxing half moon had risen, “I’m moving in on the grave they dug, we have negative activity, and I want to see if there is anything marking who those people are.”
“Be careful, Mac.”
”Yeah. Roger _that_. Out.”
Jackson watched his partner’s movements with his scope. He watched him move forward, and hit the ground, watching for movement, before rising and moving again. McEvoy repeated this process at random intervals, until he reached his destination. After taking another look around, he started digging in the sand with his issue shovel, pausing every few minutes to listen and watch. 
GSGT Jackson looked to the entrance of the cave, and seeing no movement, watched his partner dig, for a few moments, then scanning again. McEvoy stood up, peering at something in his hand, then crouched suddenly. 
“Gunny!” came the anxious voice on the tac-comm, “aw crap, man… someone’s coming… I’m outta here, man.”
“Get out of there… quick! Stay low, be quick!” Jackson whispered to his partner.
McEvoy set out at a running pace, back toward his setup position, crouched and moving as fast as he was able. Jackson swung the rifle back around to watch the cave entrance, but could see nothing. He kept watching, waiting for his moment. 
McEvoy ran. He didn’t know what was behind him, but from the sound it made coming up the hall, it didn’t sound good. The clicking and dragging noises he heard had made his heart skip a beat, and he now felt like he had a lump in his throat, the size of a baseball. He stopped over the ridge of a dune, pulled out his binoculars, and looked. 
“My god,” he whispered, reflexively. There it was, right where he’d been digging. It was sniffing the ground, and looking in the direction he’d run. ‘Why doesn’t Gunny take the shot? It’s right there…’ he thought. He pulled his M-24 off of his back, and flipped the safety to the off position. Then, like a bolt out of nowhere, the creature started running in his direction. 
“Oh crap!” SSGT McEvoy took off running, again, pausing momentarily for a couple of seconds to fire a few shots at the approaching beast. “Gunny! Take the shot!” But there was no response. No bullet like the hand of god to deliver him from his pursuer. 
McEvoy ran. 
He stopped, and fired a few rounds at the creature, until he heard the action stick in the process of ejection. ‘That’s what I need… yep…’ He started running again, reaching to his tac-comm, ‘Oh! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’ He flipped on the tac. 
Jackson waited for any sign from the cave entrance, any movement, any target that he could take down. He suddenly heard the tac-comm crackle, “Gunny! Take the shot! It’s right behind me!”
GSGT Jackson ignored the desire for silence, “What is your location?” he said into the mic, just a bit louder than what would have made him comfortable.
SSGT McEvoy’s frantic voice was hard to make out, “vember delta niner niner seven one four six niner three. Repeat. Approaching coordinate november delta niner niner seven one four six niner three.”
Jackson quickly adjusted his positioning.
McEvoy yelled, “Dune… capped ridge… I’m going to run right… over the top of it. Target is … two… meters tall. Shoot to kill! Target is trailing my position by… … … thirty seconds, that’s three zero seconds… and closing.”
Jackson could hear SSGT McEvoy’s ragged breathing, knew he had one shot at this, if he missed, his partner would likely not survive this night.
“Not on my watch….” he whispered. Jackson located the dune, and focused just above it. He only waited about fifteen seconds before he saw McEvoy cresting the top, running for everything he was worth. 
“Come on, sergeant, lead him to me…” 
McEvoy crested the top of the dune, and started down. Jackson remained focused. 
Twenty seconds went by, when what looked to Jackson to be a very large vulture’s head came up over the top of the dune. He only hesitated a moment, before adjusting his aim for the momentum and movement of the creature and squeezed the trigger.
McEvoy ran. His lungs on fire, his legs feeling as though they would collapse at any moment. But he ran. His weapon was jammed, and he knew that if he stopped, now, he would collapse, anyway. To stop meant death, and he wasn’t ready to give in. Not like this. Not to be eaten by some ugly bugbird in the middle of an Iraqi desert. Just then, he heard it. Oh that sweet sound. He heard the ‘fwip’ of a round fired from a firearm go over his head. He heard something hit the sand behind him. He turned long enough to see the creature on the ground, and making no effort to remedy the situation. 
McEvoy stopped running. He hit the sand, and he lay there. Breathing heavy, feeling like his lungs would explode, and now seeing white spots in his field of vision. He maneuvered himself into a sitting position, and yanked his sidearm out of the holster. He chambered a round, and thumbed off the safety, holding it in his lap, pointed more or less at the creature’s head, and sat there. 
Jackson jogged up to McEvoy’s position, holding his weapon trained on the creature as he approached.
“You alright, Mac?” he asked his partner.
McEvoy looked at him. “Oh, yeah, Gunny… I’m just … _peachy_. Having a great time… thinking about doing this again, tomorrow… You up for it?”
Jackson snorted, “Hey… sorry I couldn’t get him earlier. I kept watching the cave, waiting for something to come out.”
SSGT McEvoy raised one eyebrow, “Well… something came out… Wouldn’t you say?”
Jackson looked at him, “Well, sergeant, either it came out while I was panning to the cave entrance… or there’s a second entrance, ‘cause I sure as hell didn’t see it come out.”
McEvoy stopped arguing… he knew Jackson’s tone, and when he pulled rank, discussion was over. Jackson went over to the beast, tapping it with his boot, first, then with the barrel of his rifle. When he was satisfied that the creature was dead, he removed his rucksack and pulled a thick roll of a vinyl like substance out, and unrolled it. He unzipped the very large body bag, and worked the creature into it. He marveled at the freakish beast… It certainly looked as that corporal had described it. Head of a vulture, long thick hooks for ‘arms’ and a beetle like carapace. The only thing the corporal left out was the clawed feet. 
Jackson held up the head in McEvoy’s direction. 
“That’s a pretty good shot, though, isn’t it? 300 yards. In the dark. Moving target. Weird lookin’ … thing. And the round went right through the left eye. I’m impressed, if I do say so, myself. And… well… I do.” 
McEvoy managed a genuine smile, and was grateful the other man didn’t need his help. Jackson zipped up the body bag, and attached the harness to it. 
Jackson looked at his partner… “What do you say we blow this joint, and get a beer? I’m buyin’.” GSGT Jackson raised the extraction team on the radio, and gave their coordinates. Ten minutes later, sergeants Jackson and McEvoy were silently sitting in the Chinook, with their cargo. Each man lost in his own thoughts…

_To be continued…_​


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## Eyas (Jan 29, 2004)

Ohhh.....

Great!  What next?


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## Gina (Jan 29, 2004)

More? Please?

This is a great story and I am looking forward to seeing what happens next.


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## Broccli_Head (Jan 29, 2004)

If GSGT Jackson and SSGT McEvoy played D&D they would recognize that beast as a Hook Horror!

Well that's my guess anyway.


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## GSGT_Chuck_Jackson (Jan 30, 2004)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> If GSGT Jackson and SSGT McEvoy played D&D they would recognize that beast as a Hook Horror!
> 
> Well that's my guess anyway.




It was quite a moment to see that thing and take the shot.....What comes next you will not belive.......It rocks...


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## Tellerve (Jan 30, 2004)

Very neat and interesting.  This keeps going in ways I wasn't expecting and I'm looking forward to see how the various threads of story come together.

Tellerve

p.s. Are there rules for running and exhaustion or did you wing it?  I seem to remember forced march stuff in the DMG but, hmm, I'm going to look around


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## ledded (Feb 9, 2004)

_knocks back some more coke and popcorn, tries to prop feet on seat in front of him making a loud..._

BUMP


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## Eyas (Feb 13, 2004)

*throws some popcorn at the screen* "Focus....FOCUS!!!"

With a glance towards ledded, "What's with all those BUMPing noises anyway?"


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 13, 2004)

Eyas said:
			
		

> With a glance towards ledded, "What's with all those BUMPing noises anyway?"




Yeah, this ain't no adult film show!


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## ledded (Feb 13, 2004)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Yeah, this ain't no adult film show!



<_zzzziiiippp_>

"Well hell, *now* you tell me..."


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## C. Baize (Feb 18, 2004)

ARGH! 
I'm writing... I really am...
Then I'm backspacing....
A lot... 
The words aren't flowing. No excuses.  I have a page done, and am doing some more, I hope to have an update today or tomorrow. On the other hand... there's a story hour chat being held in the ENWorld chat room tonight...
It's at chat.psionics.net in channel #dnd3e, at 7:00 pm CST. Hopefully, some of the story hour greats will be there.


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 18, 2004)

I know how you feel. It seems that this Writer's Block is epidemic here on the SH  right now 

I find that reading other people's stuff helps to remove the cobwebs, though, and I know that encouraging words help. 

You have a very good story, and it makes me wish that my players would want to run a modern game! Keep it up C.B.


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## ledded (Feb 20, 2004)

Yes, I know how you feel.

I was moving at a very nice clip on my own feeble Story Hour attempt and then *wham* all of a sudden I lost impetus.  Then when I got it back, I got so busy at work/home that I have a small outline that needs words and just havent had the time to get it down yet.

I never realized how hard it gets sometimes to produce regular SH material, especially for those that do a level of quality far above my own like jonrog1, Piratecat, OldDrewId, etc.

Keep up the good work C.Baize, I look forward to reading some more of your excellent SH work once you pry it out of your skull with an 8lb crowbar 

*_sits back and relaxes into another bag of popcorn, some red hots, and another Maker's and coke_*


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## Eyas (Feb 27, 2004)

C. Baize said:
			
		

> ARGH!
> I'm writing... I really am...
> Then I'm backspacing....
> A lot...
> ...





Patience fading.....tomorrow has never arrived...must...have...more


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## fenzer (Mar 2, 2004)

Damn!  I hate coming in late and a packed house to boot. 
I'll just take the only seat left, front row all the way in the corner.

Any popcorn left?

C., thanks for a great story hour.  Post soon.


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## ledded (Mar 2, 2004)

*smiles over at Fenzer, hands him the popcorn bag and offers flask*


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## fenzer (Mar 2, 2004)

*Nods and takes bag and flask.*

He thinks to himself, _"Better late than never.  Hey, what's up with the projector?"_ 

*With his mouth full of corn and sweat nectar spilling down his chin, he looks to Ledded.*

"I can keep the popcorn and the flask right?  What?  I'm hungry."


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## ledded (Mar 2, 2004)

fenzer said:
			
		

> *Nods and takes bag and flask. Thinks to himself _Better late than never. Hey, what's up with the projector?_ With his mouth full of corn and sweat nectar spilling down his chin, he looks to Ledded, I can keep the popcorn and the flask right? What? I'm hungry.*



"Um, you're supposed to pour some o' that flask into your *coke*."

_*notices the amount of dribble making it's way into the popcorn as he wipes debris off the flask*_

"yeah, you can keep that popcorn, I'll go get some more..."


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## fenzer (Mar 3, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> "Um, you're supposed to pour some o' that flask into your *coke*."
> 
> _*notices the amount of dribble making it's way into the popcorn as he wipes debris off the flask*_
> 
> "yeah, you can keep that popcorn, I'll go get some more..."




"Hey, while you're up, get me a coke.  Oh ya, and hurry.  The projector's going to be fixed any minute."

*He says with a waving motion of the popcorn bag.*

_"What?"_


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## C. Baize (Mar 9, 2004)

*March 8 update! Woohoo! Finally! *



			
				Associated Press said:
			
		

> _*Mysterious Cloud Cover in Nova Scotia*
> February 6th, 2003. Associated Press - Staff Writer James Calhoun.
> 
> Meteorologists and scientists are baffled by a cloud cover over Nova Scotia, which resists high winds, and persists through storms and seeming clear weather in the bordering provinces, and even over the neighboring section of the Atlantic.
> ...






			
				Associated Press said:
			
		

> _* Canadian Prime Minister Appoints New Defense Minister*
> February 8th, 2003. Associated Press - Staff Writer James Calhoun.
> 
> Canadian Prime Minister d’Gorthar appoints General Raymond Sharkey as the new Defense Minister. General Sharkey is well known for his outspoken views on the threat posed by American policies. America’s ambassador to Canada expressed her disapproval of the appointment, but was told that it was Canada’s business, and she should stick to her own country. Vice president Cheney issued a statement condemning d’Gorthar for his words, and expressing hope that America and Canada will remain strong allies._




“That’s it… This sumbitch is really startin’ ta push my buttons.” President Bush’s aides fidgeted nervously, as he paced the Oval Office. “What the hell did I ever do t’him? Huh? I want someone checkin’ out his family… see if we’ve killed ‘r imprisoned any of his cousins, ‘r his favorite moose… mebbe Jeb shot a beaver he took a fancy to.” He glared at his top aide, and enunciated to the best of his ability, “I. Want. To. Know. What. His. Problem. Is. Do you unnerstand me?” His aide, Michael, tried to keep his eyes on his boss’ eyes, “Yes, Mr. President. The investigation will be underway…” he glanced at his watch, “…by thirteen hundred hours, sir. I guarantee it.” 
Bush looked at the clock, looked at his watch, closed his eyes, and seemed to be considering something. “That’s… three? Three hours? Three hours. Get on it, then. An’ I don’t want any sloppy work. Find out what his problem is. And do it, quick. Y’all’re dismissed.” Bush picked up his phone as his aides were walking out the door, he cleared his throat, “ahem… uhm… Mr. Ashcroft?” Michael closed the door behind him.

_Elsewhere…_​
Colonel Harland called in sergeants Jackson and McEvoy for debriefing. After interviewing them individually, and then together, the colonel seemed satisfied that he had the whole story. 
“Sergeants,” the colonel said, “I want you to get checked out by captain Holmes, ASAP, then I want both of you over in Delta three Bravo, immediately afterward, and I mean doubletime.”
Jackson and McEvoy stood at attention and held their salute, “Yes sir!” 
The colonel saluted, “carry on, gentlemen.”
The sergeants moved out to the infirmary to be checked out by captain Holmes. The infirmary was strangely empty, except for the captain, and corporal Wolfham, who were both waiting for the pair. Captain Holmes gave them a full checkup, then gave all three of them a shot, and sent them on their way. The three of them hustled over to Delta three Bravo, and were instructed to take seats. 
Three men in white lab coats came in to the room, and started checking the men out. An assistant lowered the lights, and the men pulled eyelights out, to check their pupil responses. The eyelights began strobing, and the men felt instantly nauseous, and weak…
Colonel Rehne watched through the one way glass. “You know. We’re going to have to give him back his stripe.”
General Harron mumbled an affirmation. “Yeah… Do it. I’ll push the paperwork, and keep it quiet.”

_February 11, 2003_​
McEvoy woke up, groaning. He looked around the hotel room, confused, and lost. And hungry. After availing himself of the facilities and drinking from the faucet, he looked out his window to the beach, below, and tourists in bathing suits, and bikinis. 
“What the hell…?” He picked up the phone, and dialed 0, for the operator. 
“Front desk, how may I direct your call?” came the male voice on the other end.
“Uhh… Yeah… I’m … confused, I think. Where am I?” McEvoy asked.
“Sir, your call is coming from room 614. Do you require medical assistance?” he asked.
“No… no. No medical assistance… Uhmm… _Where_ am I? Hotel… City… Where?” the sergeant asked.
“Sir… you’re in room 614, at the Honolulu Hilton Hotel, with strict orders to not disturb you before you awoke.” The desk clerk was beginning to sound concerned. 
McEvoy was thoroughly confused, now, “Honolulu? … No… we were in Tikrit… Is there a Charles Jackson registered here, as well?”
“Hold, sir…” the desk clerk put him on hold, and he could hear some Elvis Presley song on the phone for a moment… “Yes, sir. Mr. Jackson is registered in room 616, there is also another Marine, a sergeant Eric Wolfham in room 615. The computer shows that the three of you registered at the same time. Is there some other way I may assist you, sir?”
“No. No thank you. I’m okay, from here.” McEvoy hung up the phone. He looked around, and found the keycard for the room on top of the dresser. He put it in his breast pocket, and walked into the hall. He walked past room 615, and knocked on 616. He waited. He knocked again, harder, and kept knocking until he could hear movement from inside.
Jackson opened the door, looking bewildered… “What? Where the hell are we? … This isn’t Tikrit…” 
McEvoy snickered, “You noticed, eh? Hawaii. Honolulu Hilton, to be exact.”
“What?” Jackson looked stunned, “How the hell did we end up in Honolulu?”
“You’re the gunny… Gunny.” McEvoy said, “You tell me, and we’ll both know.”
The sergeants stared out the window at the beach, below.

_Elsewhere…_​
Deirdre Jones rather enjoyed life on an American Military Base. As something of a special government agent, she enjoyed many privileges, and very few responsibilities, other than typing essay-like reports regarding Canadian military changes in the past several months,  any political conversations she’d been privy to, and outlining any of her special training that might be helpful to the country to which she now pledged her allegiance without hesitation. 
She enjoyed being in an underground complex, though the lights were always kept too high for her taste, and she normally kept her quarters unlit, except for the clock face, which she dimmed. She kept her dark shades with her, for those frequent times she’d receive a visiting officer who had thought of some question or other that wasn’t in the files, and would come down and speak with her, in person. 
Deirdre was scheduled for an MRI, and a CAT scan, later that day. The doctors told her they wished to see if there was something _wrong_ between her brain and her eyes that made her so susceptible to bright lights. Her own thought was that they wanted to see what was different that allowed her to see in the dark without the use of night vision equipment, and see if it was able to be duplicated in their own ranks. She did not, of course, voice this opinion, and simply responded with a “Yes, sir” when the _request_ was made of her.
She had been reading the news reports regarding the goings on in Canada with interest, and was particularly interested in the fact that a Defense Minister had been appointed within a day of the noxious cloud cover over Nova Scotia. She voiced this to the base commander, in passing, to gauge his reaction, but made no more mention of it, when it was apparently ignored. 
Deirdre Jones had met General Sharkey on a number of occasions, and she was somewhat unsettled by his odd questions regarding things about her physiology that she had told nobody. She always got the impression that he knew more about her than she did, and he always gave her a case of the creeps. This was doubly unsettling in that nobody else that she had encountered had that effect on her. 
Deirdre mainly kept to herself. She was usually in her quarters writing reports as her workday, but could be found in the rec room watching the news, or reading newspapers and periodical magazines, in her off time. Recently, a young soldier working under the Quartermaster had been sitting himself at the same table with her, and even striking up small conversational topics regarding what was going on in the news, or things he’d overheard other soldiers gabbing about. He had also been trying to keep up with her during the running portions of PT, but had found that she was surprisingly fast; and quite nimble when she took time to run through the training obstacle course. Deirdre had also been considering inquiring of the base commander if she would be allowed to qualify with weapons for the American Military. After so many years carrying a sidearm, at least, she felt naked and vulnerable without anything of the sort, now. But that was for later. 

_To be continued…_​


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## C. Baize (Mar 9, 2004)

Ok... whew... After a new computer system, and being temporarily unable to tear myself away from the America's Army Operations video game... here's an update!  
Maybe now, the writer's block is gone, and I can start updating regularly, again. *crossing fingers*


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## fenzer (Mar 9, 2004)

Thanks for the update C.  You write like you have military experience, true?


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## C. Baize (Mar 9, 2004)

fenzer said:
			
		

> Thanks for the update C.  You write like you have military experience, true?



 Unfortunately, no. Apparently a youth filled with fighting and sports was not conducive to passing the Marine Corps physical... too busted up, too soon.


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## fenzer (Mar 9, 2004)

Sorry to hear it.  If it's any consolation your writing makes up for any kind of crooked nose you may have.


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## Eyas (Mar 9, 2004)

Yay! Tomorrow finally arrived! Great update C.

*settles back in his seat, sipping on his beer*


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## Broccli_Head (Mar 9, 2004)

Hooray! An update. 

Thanks C.! Glad the writer's block is passing. Can't wait to see how you get the characters all together...

Are you going to see _Dawn of the Dead_ when it comes out on the 19th? 

Seeing the previews reminded me of your story


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## C. Baize (Mar 9, 2004)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Hooray! An update.
> 
> Thanks C.! Glad the writer's block is passing. Can't wait to see how you get the characters all together...
> 
> ...




Looks like it could be a really fun movie. I don't think I'll take my wife to see it, though... the scene with the pregnant woman whose unborn kid zombifies in the womb might be a bit much for my wife who's about to give birth on the 26th (due date, anyway).  
I don't like sleeping on the couch when my wife is in the happybed.


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