| |||||||||||
|
CW: strong language, violence
In the year 2912, the month of Ulani, or shall I say, "14/10/2912," in the world of Tyrenkia.
My name is Myles Price, age eighteen and 5'7.5 foot tall, and I am a black teenager who just graduated from high school. Yeah me. Now that is what's up.
It's another day at my workplace; I hate it. In most places I work from before, the bosses that I meet are nothing but assholes. It seems hopeless to get a cool, chilling boss to get along with from trading one boss to another. It's always a yes boss, okay boss, and I'm going now, boss.
I am a cash register in some gas station in the middle of nowhere. It's placed in the desert that nobody ever comes to pay for a visit. It reminds me of my horrible, embarrassing uncle where they never visit him because he got house arrested by his own family before they dumped him. His sons dumped him; his daughters dumped him; his wife as well. What's funny is that his house is his prison. His family tried to throw him away; however, things got into deep yogurt. Throwing him away into the streets to be homeless, he causes trouble that brings people with pitchforks. He gets problems everywhere he goes; it's best to lock him in a house without anyone with him. His own family pays the bills, making sure the creature stays at that home?alone! I now know why this gas station is similar to the taste of my horrible uncle. It's a prison in a place of nowhere?no one to see you.
I entered the gas station as I work there, clocking in at five, and my boss is giving me an attitude right now?cunt! I don't like how he crosses his arms at me, furrowed his eyebrows, angry at my face, and his lips grow to detest me. I wish I am not here right now.
Okay. I will tell you how it went from last night. All I have done is listen and blast my earphones to the max while reading my comic books online. I didn't know a six-year-old boy will steal food in the store and takes off with his mommy. How the heck shall I know? Shit! I know I didn't pay attention, but it's just one pack of candy the kid stole.
"Myles! You damn lazy fool!" said the boss, who has a bald with androgenetic alopecia. He's fat, short, and stout with a beer belly as well and an unattractive look. "I see in the camera, you reading and blasting those earplugs, ignoring what our customers stole!"
"I'm so sorry, boss; it won't happen again." Like hell, I don't care. I am only here for the money before joining the military. I bet this fat cunt cheat on his wife. His face looks like an ass already with an intimidating look. When he has a regular mug, it seems like a gruff jerk already. You can't even tell when he's angry because his angry face and his normal face are the same. It's why I call him "Mr. Asshole."
"This is your last straw! I hope you better save it for the last, kid!"
Yeesh! Okay fatso; Okay dumb-dumb. Then I start to skit my shoes on the ground, throwing a fit since it's so hot today. My boss usually works in the morning. Four people only work here, which includes me and the others. I take the night shift before someone takes the midnight shift.
My boss leaves the place and drives off home with his fancy sports car. Show-off! How the heck are you making money from this kind of gas station in the desert out in the middle of nowhere? Anyway, whatever. I don't care. At least that fat-tard is not here at this moment. I guess I will sit at that counter, bore myself to death, and wait for the other dudes to come over for their shift. Shit. I wish I can bring my electronic Handgame Vee to play online, kicking people's butts on Super All-Star Champion. It's the best video game ever in the world! It's a game based on multi-crossover characters from different console games on one platform. At least it can make time fly by so fast.
6:30 p.m. The sun is down, and the heat is dying very fast in the desert. It's going to be cold?very cold. At least I got my coat in my car.
All I did from an hour ago is to doodle around on a stupid paper, drawing how stupid my boss is, having thoughts of clowning him like some stand-up comedy. It's fine. At least I find something entertaining to do. After drawing about my stupid boss, I push those papers aside and enter to la-la land, daydreaming of myself as a soldier. My father is a war hero before he died. It's just my mom and me, living together My mother doesn't want me to be a soldier because she doesn't want me to end up dying like my dad. I always tell her that I will be just fine and do things better than what dad does. Her answer is still a no. C'mon, mom!
8 p.m. and no customer at all?NOT ONE! I told you so! Narrator, shoot me! PLEASE!
Another two hours of nothing. I wish I can bring my A-phone, look at porn on the internet, get a ten-inch boner, start humping at the glass wall, and maybe shoot some seeds in my pants and at least?forgot, keep it rated PG-13. Whatever I said, folks, you didn't read it. Let's start over and reverse that. You never hear what I just said. I just blurted my la-la land, and I do apologize.
8:15 p.m., trying to stay awake since this boredom is killing me. No earphones or else I get fired; no comic books or else I get fired. Okay boss; okay fatso; okay retard. Instead, I rather go to school and let the professor yick-yack at me than staring at an empty store with no one here. Please, narrator, can you at least change my storyline to fun-fun land? I will do anything for you to change this subject for me. If you can't, just let me die.
8:30 p.m., I start to walk around, trying to stay awake. Suddenly, there's a car that approaches the front parking lot. It parks right there, next to the curb, in the front door of the shop. The car is black. Okay, I know this is not one of the guys for the midnight shift since the bearded dude comes at 10 p.m. while the other guy comes at 14 a.m. This car's windshield is so dark, and I can't even see the driver. I hope the dark windshield doesn't mean anything dirty by looking at me from that view to my side. If it's a fucking pedophile, oh fuck me!
The driver's door opens, and there comes out a very tall man, and he's black. Cool! I'm going to nickname him, "Mr. Cool Dude." On the passenger seat, there's a tall white man. He's quite handsome with his blonde hair, I'd say. I will nickname him, "Mr. Custani." They are dress in black, looking cool like gangsters in a businessman outfit. I return to the cash register in steadfast since I have been waiting for one customer for a very long time. Yes, my insanity of boredom is over. I feel useful again! Thank you, Mr. Narrator. At least for the moment, I can enjoy my work with them.
The doorbell rings when they enter the gas station store. I look at them, and they are pretty tall, equal in size. They are muscularly slim fit, more build than I. The tall black man approaches me, standing very tall, overwhelming with his height and intimidating looks. Gulp!
"Myles? Is that your name tag?" said the tall black man, looking down at me while I look up at him.
"Yes." I nodded. "And?"
"Last name?" when he tilts his head to the right.
"Price. My name is Myles Price. Why?"
The tall black man raises his gun at my face and shoots a bullet. I closed my eyes in a flinch, raising my hands to block it. When I did, I take a peek and see the bullet is floating, spinning slowly. What's funny is that everything starts to go slow. Mr. Custani shoots his gun at me as well from a few feet away. However, everything is going significantly and excruciatingly slow. What the hell is going on?
I touch the bullet, and it moved away from me. I raised my eyebrows in astonishment; it's as if time just went slow.
"Whoa!"
I went around the counter and went to the right side of Mr. Cool Dude. Man, this dude is enormous. I suddenly grabbed a bat, which belongs to my boss, and start bashing at the two dudes who are about to kill me. I struck them so hard a couple of times; it's as if I'm time traveling to beat them to a pulp. One bash, two bashes, three bashes Clang; clung; thung. Then I swing my bat right in the nut for the both of them.
WHAM! I have done it. What's shocking is that when I hit them, everything is in slow motion. Holy moly, when I bash the bat in their nuts, I didn't think their schlong to be that huge, popping out in slow motion from their pants. It's bigger than mine! I'm jealous! I forgot. Keep it PG-13 for the audience. I'm going to turn away.
"Holy shit. Am I going crazy? Am I time traveling?"
I stand away to the right and see the view?going to blur the schlong out since that didn't happen.
At that moment, I closed my eyes and reopen them again; the time-traveling stops. Everything is set back to motion again.
Pew. Pew. Pew! Bam! Bam! BAM!
"Ow! Motherfucker!" when the two of them shout out loud. They dropped their gun before I snatch it away.
Now that is what you call feeling good to beat up a bad guy. It serves them right.
"You're... you're one dead fucker, kid!" said Mr. Custani, getting extremely pissed at me.
"My...MY NUTS! FUCK!" when Mr. Cool Dude starts to hold his nuts, really tight in immense agony, moaning hard.
"Go ahead, kid. The cop serves us, you stupid kid." Mr. Cool Dude, curling his legs in agony, I think I crushed his nuts too hard. I think I went too far, cracking his eggshell to mush.
As for Mr. Custani, oh shit. I think he's starting to gargling out saliva out from his mouth. Oh fuck. I went a bit too far. How will these men ever sleep with a girl again? What's the point of having a big dick when you just lost your seeds? FUCK! I forgot again. Keep it rated PG-13. Sorry guys, for the third time.
"Why are you trying to kill me?"
"You don't... don't...fuck!" when Mr. Cool Dude is still on the ground, holding his nuts, squirming loudly in agony. "You don't need to know," as he clenches his teeth while talking.
"What do you gain for killing a kid like me?"
"You're a time traveler. I know...fuck..." Yeah, that's right! Keep moaning, you cunt!
Did he say that I'm a time traveler? That will explain why everything went so slow. COOL! I'm a superhero! YAHOO!
Ding-Ding! Someone enters the room as they come into the store. A nine-year-old boy and a tall man wearing a strange mask approach the two tall men, looking down at them. This boy dresses like those rich kids while his guy dresses like a butler; I wonder why he wears a black mask. Is he ugly underneath that mask like some burnt dude with a face?
"Hello, Myles," said the boy.
"Hi," I replied strangely since I am in an awkward situation with these two people, moaning in pain. "I do apologize for what just happened here, but these two assholes pulled a gun at me."
This kid gives me a smirk before raising his eyebrows with some confidence that I don't even know why he's doing that.
"Can I help you?" when I quirk my brow at the kid with his fancy staff and his fancy butler.
"Myles Price. Is that you?"
"Yes? Are you one of those assholes?"
"No. I am the one who chased them to find you. Those two gentlemen will be eliminated since they aren't even Tyrenkians."
Huh? What do you mean Tyrenkian, kid? Okay. I will act like you're pretending in some pretend-land or whatever you're doing. I'm just going along with it.
"Hey, buddy," when I smiled, acting to be his level and age. "I know that we are trying to play ghost and robbers, but hey, I caught the robbers. We can play ghost and robbers later and?"
"I know you're a time traveler, and you've just time-traveled to kick their asses."
How the fuck? Okay! In the beginning, I am dying of boredom, and now, I just jumped into trippy land and weird fucking people.
"Uuhhh..." as I hesitated. Okay Think of a defense plan. I still have the bat in my hand and?
"Don't use your bat on me, Myles. I can read your mind, telepathically and precognition as well. Now you listen to me?" I'm going to cut his words out since I'm going to interrupt and talk to the narrator.
Narrator, why put me in a weirdo situation?
"MYLES! Damn it! Listen to me!" the weird-psychic boy shouted at me.
"Uh, yes?"
"The one who sent me to save you and come and get you is you from the future."
Huuuh? Whaaaaa? Am I sleeping and dreaming, or is this for real? I just give a quirking face at this kid. I eye at him; I eye at his butler; I eye back the kid again; I eye at the two of them The hell is going on.
"You're confused, Myles. Let me tell you that you're not a Tyrenkian as well as me. You have superpowers like me. Also, what you're thinking is exactly how I am back then when I first tried out my superpowers."
"Okay. One question," I replied "Just who the fuck are you, and what do you want?"
"My name is Clyde Calawis, and my butler's name is Yoban Stray."
The butler waved hi at me. I waved hi back at him?awkwardly.
Clyde Calawis? Your last name sounds like you're from Eglas. Fancy!
"We are here to save you and recruit you. I just arrested your boss for crime drugs he does overnight and?" hold that thought. I just want to interrupt and break the fourth wall.
Oh! So that is how he got his fancy sports car. You see, children. Making drugs is bad, okay? Don't do drugs.
"Sorry to interrupt, Cyanide?"
"It's Clyde!" when he rebuttals and corrects me.
"Clyde. Okay." I take a breath and smile at him with excitement, hoping my assumption to be correct. "Am I a superhero?" I screamed.
"You can say that since you do read a lot of superhero comic books."
No shit! If this is true, then that means the future me must be badass! Superhero career, Mr. fatso boss is arrested?YES! Maybe even the ladies will be with?um, um?rated PG-13. You see, audience. I kept it clean!
"WAHOO! Does that mean?"
"Yes. The future-you tells me to come and get you. The future-you said something about the prophecy and about you being chosen after my place. The future-you also recruited me in the year 16th century, telling me to get recruit you."
Whaaaa? You're that old? Wait! How the hell are you a nine-year-old? How the hell are you nine for?
"Yes, I can hear your thoughts. I don't grow or age that fast," said Clyde.
"So, 'me-future' tells you to get me because 'me-future' recruits' me-past' to get you to tell me?" I'd asked.
"Correct. I know it's hard to understand time since time has been in flux before. I'd say eight times before. This is the ninth."
"Cool! If I am recruited, when do I start?"
"You start tomorrow, and I will pay you very handsomely. You will meet the others with you since you recruited them also."
"Cool! Does this mean I can quit this place?"
"Myles. I just said?"
"OH! Yeah. I forgot. You arrested him."
Clyde, the Eglatian boy, looks at the two guys on the floor. He opens his hands at them while standing. Suddenly, it glows bright white that I have to cover my eyes. The two gentlemen that are on the floor transformed to their true form. Their beauty becomes ugly, hideous, and terrifying. They both look like a demon as they turned. Holy smokes! It's like reading off from a comic book to a supernatural story.
Those imposters burned up, leaving no ashes, no corpses, and nothing behind. I guess beating them to a pulp is a good thing. I guess.
The room dims down when Clyde stops using his strange powers to kill his enemies. He clenches his hand, shakes it, and holds it tight. When I see his expression, it looks like it hurt a little. How come my superpowers didn't hurt me?
"You okay?" I'd asked.
"I'm fine. I think it's time for us to go before those bad guys and fake cops find us. Shall we?" as Clyde suggested.
I nodded yes, left this horrible gas station that I work at, and kiss goodbye to my boredom. I am now a superhero and a superhero for life! Thank Jesus and Mr. Narrator!
It was two weeks after their high school graduation. Best friends Erik and Jacques were spending their time doing landscaping at Jacques' house. They had met nearly a year ago at a basketball game. Neither of them knew much about sports, but their friendship blossomed quickly. Jacques admired Erik because Erik knew a lot about history, especially European history, mainly because his family was directly involved in many current historical events. He was impressed with Erik's library, which he had begun at age thirteen. Because of his vast historical knowledge, Erik often corrected his history teachers and helped his few friends on history reports.
Outside school, both had similar interests. One was the United States Navy, specifically nuclear submarines. Erik spent most of his spare time reading and researching every kind of document published on the subject. Even better were the conversations he had with Jacques' father, who was one of four Fleet Master Chiefs in the world and served as the eyes and ears of the admiral of the United States Navy Sixth Fleet.
While Erik and Jacques were finishing their landscaping work, Jacques' father came home and told Erik to go home, get his suit, and overnight bag to spend the night. He told Erik that he had already gotten permission from his parents. Over dinner, Erik studied the master chief 's mannerisms. He was impressed by his appearance, as well as his alertness and decisiveness. Erik couldn't contain his curiosity. He took a deep breath and peered down the table into the cold and untelling eyes of the master chief. ?Master Chief, may I ask why I am staying the night and why I need my suit??
In his authoritarian military tone, he replied, ?You and Jacques are going to meet some individuals tomorrow morning.? He took a sip of his tea and added, ?And after supper, you boys are going to help clear the table and clean up the kitchen. Then go to bed because you are getting up early.?
Jacques knew never to question his father when he had that tone; however, though Erik was aware of the tone, he probed further. ?May I ask who?? The stare from the master chief compared with Medusa's when she turned a man into stone. ?No, you may not.?
The next morning Jacques and Erik were awakened by the bedroom door abruptly opening and the order to shower, get their suits on, and be downstairs in thirty minutes. As they descended the stairs, Jacques' dad, in his Dress Blue uniform, was waiting. Once in the car, they headed to the Orlando Naval Training Center (NTC), and once inside, Jacques' dad parked in front of an unmarked building. Inside, they went to a desk, signed in, were given visitor IDs, and went to the second floor. Erik was told to sit in a chair and wait while Jacques went with his father. Curious, Erik took note of his surroundings: polished vinyl composition tile floor reflecting the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and matte gray walls. It was not a friendly environment. However, most government buildings were not designed by interior decorators from Architectural Design. His thoughts ran wild, wondering where he was and why he was there.
Erik had never been in trouble with the law or hacked into any websites. He was an average student in school, and he had earned the rank of Eagle Scout, the highest rank in the Boy Scouts of America and earned by only one percent of scouts. One thing Erik was certain, whoever he was meeting knew everything about him and Erik had to decide how he was going to introduce himself. His concentration was broken by the sound of hard rubber heels on an ombudsman's dress shoes echoing down the hallway and magnifying as he drew closer. Then the noise stopped.
?Erik, follow me,? the ombudsman said in a neutral tone. There was no sign of Jacques. When Erik was escorted down the hallway, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jacques being led to another room. Erik took several deep breaths to calm his nerves and straightened his posture. As a Boy Scout, he knew there was no substitute for lateral thinking. For the most part, Erik could plan as he went, hope for the best, and roll with the punches. However, this time, there would be no improvisation, and he wouldn't know where the punches would be coming from.
They came to a solid wooden door. It was opened, and Erik stepped in. There in front of him was a tall admiral, and alongside him was the Fleet Master Chief, an intelligence officer, and other individuals. All of them were in their Dress Blue uniforms. The room was cold, but the faces staring at him were colder. The ombudsman closed the door. The admiral was holding and looking at a folder. He motioned Erik to take a seat.
Little did Erik know, the folder contained a dossier about him, and provided every aspect of his life to the smallest detail. He realized then that his visit here was far more than an opportunity to meet an admiral. But Erik did not know that yet. The admiral showed no emotion as he skimmed several highlights that had piqued his interest. One thing that had caught his attention was that Erik was able to speak German and Russian fluently. He had learned German because his father was German, and he learned Russian in four years of high school classes. The admiral was going to put that to the test.
Also, the case study indicated that Erik was honest and trustworthy, with integrity, and a single-mindedness that could see, plan, organize, and work tirelessly to achieve goals. For example, as his Eagle Scout project, he had selected a tree survey of a sizable section of the city of Winter Park. It was an enormous undertaking. That and other information showed Erik to be a hard worker capable of assuming roles and responsibilities in areas others might avoid. Besides, the one trait that pleased the admiral was that Erik was more concerned with the cause than with himself and his ego.
?What makes you different??
?I have my way of doing things, getting information, and figuring things out, which is different from most. I also don't give up.?
The admiral adjusted his glasses, flipped through pages of the dossier, and put Erik up to his first test. ???? ?? ?????? ? Alpha ??????? ????????? ????? ??????? What do you know about the Alpha Class Submarine??
To show he was different from others, Erik chose to answer in Russian. He took a deep breath, dug deep in his memory, cleared his throat, and spoke in a perfect Russian dialect and inflection.
?It was known as Project 705, which started in 1974 at Admiralty yard, in Leningrad.? His eyes focused on all those individuals at the table as he continued. ?I believe there was another location, but I am not certain where it was.? The admiral nodded his head and gestured him to continue. ?The Alpha class was a fast attack sub and assigned to the Northern Fleet. Alpha class subs had a displacement of 2,300 tons on the surface and 3,200 tons submerged.?
Though his expression remained neutral, the admiral was pleased that Erik could speak Russian fluently, as indicated in the file.
?Do you care to repeat yourself?? the non-Russian speaking intelligence officer asked somewhat angrily. Erik repeated it calmly and objectively, but this time in English. ?Anyone can find that information. An amateur could tell us this, Admiral,? the intelligence officer said absently, without interest, as he stared at the admiral.
A trait the admiral noted about Erik, from reading observation notes, was that Erik could gather information about people by studying their body language and the tone in their voices. However, Erik was able to go even further by penetrating below the surface, getting into other people's heads, and figuring out what made them tick.
Erik quickly went on the defensive. ?That is correct, and I know you will say an amateur will say the speed submerged is approximately 40 knots, which was published in an official Russian publication and Jane's Fighting Ships; however, the real speed, which is classified, is approximately 60 knots. Also, both publications say the crush depth is 600 meters, but we know that it is over 1300 meters.?
Erik was stubborn but always respected the chain of command. As a high schooler, he had no real experience with a chain of command a possible mistake when dealing with individuals who only answer to the president of the United States. He was not the most intimidating of individuals, but he was not weak?far from it. People were always trying to put him down, and that is why he was determined and perseverant in everything. Thus, when it came to situations like this, Erik always managed to prove them wrong.
His eyes filled with rage, the intelligence officer demanded through his teeth, ?Where did you get your information?? He paused and looked at others around the table as though wondering if others were going to add anything.
?I just read books and publications, sir.? That was correct; however, he also knew where to look.
The admiral raised his hand and leaned forward. ?The Chief was right about you.? He looked to his right and then back at Erik. ?You just read books and publications?hmmm,? he said with an undertone of doubt and suspicion, but he did respect Erik's resourcefulness
?Furthermore,? Erik added coyly, ?It helps to be in the right place at the right time.?
?Who do you know in the navy besides the Chief??
?No one, sir.?
A grin came over the admiral's face as he rubbed his chin. ?I would like you to work for me.?
Erik gripped his knees, looked around the table, and back at the admiral. For ten seconds, give or take a few, he stared silently. Then his voice and face got eager. ?What would I be doing??
?You will be a junior analyst.?
?Do I have time to think about it??
He looked at his watch. ?You have thirty seconds to make up your mind.?
?Sir??
?Twenty seconds.?
?Sir, I would like to inform you I am planning to go to college.?
?Yes. I know more about you than you do. What is your major? Ten seconds!?
?History.? It was clear the admiral was not going to move the conversation forward until Erik answered his question.
?Five seconds.?
Erik took a deep breath. ?I accept.?
The admiral nodded and stated. ?I'm Admiral Bonesteiner, and I control the Sixth Fleet. Outside these walls, you don't exist, nor will there be any record of you working for me.? Erik nodded. ?You will not repeat anything you see or hear. Understood??
?Yes, sir.? Erik replied. He suddenly found himself working in some aspect of naval intelligence, and he wouldn't have any protection from the U.S. Government. That was because Erik was a NOC (non-official cover), and NOCs are expendable. He also knew that outside the small group of people in this room, he had to assume that everyone was a potential enemy or threat. So, in short, he should trust no one.
?Welcome.? The admiral's voice was different from before. It was softer and almost friendly as if he welcomed Erik into his inner circle. Little did Erik know that his talents in research, resourcefulness, and reading-people skills would soon be put to a much greater test?a test of dark, secretive, and even deadly proportions
No comments:
Post a Comment