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Post by Heikki Toivonen on Mar 1, 2005 11:01:39 GMT -5
The first thread of the main quest.
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Post by Alejos H. Coy IV on Mar 1, 2005 23:39:28 GMT -5
Alejos was asleep in his bed at the new boarding school. After his 7th arrest his parents decided he needed some discipline, and so here he is. He hadn't been asleep long, about 2 hours. He had severe insomnia. But, nobody seemed to care.
"Wake up, you maggots!" shouted Major Jones. "Move, move, move, move!"
Alejos groggily rolled out of bed and stood up. He began making his bed and put on his uniform. Most students ate breakfast at this time. Not Alejos. He simply went to the library and got on the computer. Technically you're not supposed to go on AIM or check mail and blah blah blah, but everyone did it anyway. He signed in as Freak Boy and continued writing "The Musical Revolution."
Just for the hell of it, he decided to log on to AIM as well. Maybe other revolutionaries were on as well.
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 0:06:56 GMT -5
Peter cups his hands around his lighter, touching the tip of his cigarette to the wilding flickering flame. It was hard to keep the little fire going in the harsh wind but he managed to get the tabbaco stick burning before the light flickered out.
Straightening from his hunch Peter takes a long drag on the cigarette then exhales a cloud of gray smoke. The wind takes the smoke into the darkness beyond the reach of the single street light overhead in a few short moments.
Peter looks left, then right, gives his fingers a flick to shake off the ash on the end of his cig, and takes another drag. His contact was late. Very late. Late was bad. It ment either he was sloppy. "Or he's dead." Peter finishes his thought out loud and drops the cigarette to the ground, rubbing it out with his foot. Either way, he couldn't wait around any longer.
It was dangerous to stay in one place too long out here. His job was dangerous enough without getting jumped by a junky for his wallet.
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 0:09:04 GMT -5
The alarm goes off and I roll out of bed, smacking it so as to keep it from waking my roomate. While I wish I didn't have to always get up so early, my job requires otherwise. Cursing the clock as I do every morning, I shake my head to clear the fog from it, and shamble into the kitchen, grabbing a package of ramen from the cupboard I quarantined specifically for the purpose of packaged, probably extremely unhealthy foods that make up much of my breakfast diet. Putting a pot on the stove, I begin boiling the water while trying to wake up. Of course, with all the honking outside the window, this isn't too horribly difficult an endeavor.
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Post by Alejos H. Coy IV on Mar 2, 2005 0:16:52 GMT -5
(crap! I've got ten minutes left!)
Alejos continued wasting time on the computer, talking with people on AIM and writing his musical. Classes started in about ten minutes, so he was typing like a madman.
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 0:29:03 GMT -5
Peter, walking down the slowly lightening street, reaches into his pocket and brings out his cellphone. He flips it open and dials the number from memory. He didn't get to writing things down, written things could be traced by anyone.
He raises the phone to his ear. This was his back-up contact so it wasn't a sure thing at all. But reports could generally be counted on to find things out.
((Post to Austin.))
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 0:34:34 GMT -5
The phone rings and causes me to nearly spring through the roof. Grabbing it before it wakes my roomate, I answer, still a bit frazzled. I startle quite easily.
"Hello?"
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 0:39:15 GMT -5
"Good morning Mr. MacGregory." Peter speaks in his normal voice, a smooth, calm tone, "You services are required. Do you know who this is?"
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 0:41:24 GMT -5
"Peter, it's five AM, there aren't a lot of people who call me around this time."
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Post by Mikhael Nadyezhda Kirsanov on Mar 2, 2005 0:50:42 GMT -5
((I still have a few things I'd like to set up here, but things are moving along smoothly, thank you all for coming, and welcome back!))
I stand idly, leaning against a coffee shop. A cigarette dangles from my mouth, and an assault rifle slung over my shoulder. As s'hitty as this post is, it gets me away from Tanya.
I flick my cigarette to the ground, step on it, and begin to take a walk through the old streets of Moscow. The big city always overwhelms me with a sense of history. Farms have stayed the same for thousands of years, but cities can change dramatically in a few short decades.
Or in a few short seconds.
A blast roars through the air, followed soon by the shock wave, pushing me back. Voices come over the radio.
I systematically run towards the source of the explosion at full speed, my rifle now in my hands.
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 0:57:23 GMT -5
"I'm touched you remember me. My contact didn't show, Austin. You know what that means. He got careless or he wasn't worth it to begin with. Either way the first string is down and it's time to pull you off the bench.
This is important. We've been after this for months now. We were close this time. That Fred missed the contact shows just how close we might be.
I need to know if that Microsoft VP has been in contact with any of the people on the list I'm going to send you. You know the drill. Unoffical conformation is all I need." Peter moves his cellphone down and hits several keys, sending the small list to Austin before raising it back to his ear. "Any questions?"
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 0:59:17 GMT -5
"None whatsoever," I say as I open my laptop and bring up my email, checking over the list.
"I recognize some names," I say.
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 1:05:16 GMT -5
"You should. Most of them are from the black list set up back under the Clinton Administration. You know, the one that got dropped when Bush came to office. Rumors are that Grant McArthur, the Microsoft VP, has been passing high speed processors through the black market in China, Iran, and a number of Soviet satelite nations.
You've done research on most of them in the past most likely but they've been off the radar for the last seven years or so. The political one anyway."
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Post by beholdthevoid on Mar 2, 2005 1:10:04 GMT -5
"Yes. The first three I've not heard any news from in several years. However... I do believe I saw the one on the bottom at a rather lavish dinner the higher-ups were holding not too long ago. And the fifth one I've heard some interesting rumors about."
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Post by Peter G. Nielsen on Mar 2, 2005 1:17:26 GMT -5
Peter checks his list and marks the names Austin mentions. "Right. I'll check them out. Find me something more solid, Austin. Unoffical is one thing but rumors are another. I don't think I have to remind you of the Gillian Insident three years ago. We don't need to repeat that one.
I'll be in contact for another eight hours, then I'm ditching this number. Get in touch with me by then." Peter hangs up and pockets the phone. The two names were far apart and had different motivation all together. Difficult. Investigation was not his greatest skill, he needed others to get his data so he could plan.
Peter turns up his collar against the chilly wind and heads into the nearly deserted walk ways of Central Park. "Austin had better come through..."
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