Friday, June 13, 2008

IN BLOG WE TRUST – Part 5

Deathlok -
In a sterile, dimly lit laboratory, the gentle ping of equipment and the strobe of panel lights is monitored from the outer chamber.

"So, is he dead, or what?" asked Lab Tech 3.

"I don't know. Its looks awful still to me. Supposedly, the Chrysalis will keep in in stasis. Our job is to report on the analysis the all this equipment is collecting." replied Lab Tech 2.

"Yeah, but didn't this guy used to work upstairs?" continued Lab Tech 3.

"A work of advise. . being as you are new. Although an inquisitive mind is a wonderful thing, unless you want end up in your own little candy shell, like out friend in their, when it comes to questions less is more." Lab Tech 2advised. "Besides, I have enough work to do with "Prototype WRKRB-E08". I don't need to watching your stats in there."

Lab Agent 2 picked up the file containing their instructions and confirmed their orders.

"MONITOR "Prototype WRKRB-E08" AND COLLECT DATA. REPORT ANY CHANGE. REVIEW ENCLOSED REPORTS ON "Prototype WRKRB-E09". PREPARE ADDITIONAL CHRYSALIS FOR POSSIBLE SAMPLE. WHEN NOTIFIED, BEGIN ACTIVATION OF "Prototype WRKRB-E10".

As the Lab Agents continued their work at their monitoring station, tubes and electrodes continued to provide life support and sedation and retrieve data to be used on the later Prototypes. The project was close to success. Soon the Company would have the Perfect Operative.

Inside the synthetic cocoon, the unmoving form of Mikal Rosakoff floated in protective fluid.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Momster -
Detective Gordon shook his head as the elderly man shuffled off in the direction he had sent him.
“Damn shame when an old guy can’t even walk the streets without some punk messin with him he thought as he grabbed his coffee cup, raised it to his lips to get a drink, only to find that it was empty.
“I don’t remember finishing it.,” he thought as he got up and walked down the hall to the officers break room to refill his cup.
The break room was empty when he got there and so was the coffee pot. Gordon muttered darkly to himself another asshole that couldn’t be bothered to make a fresh pot when they took the last cup. He quickly filled the pot with water, measured out the grounds, and in short order a pot was brewing, filling the room with the aroma of fresh coffee.
“At least they buy the good stuff here. The last place was hardly better than pencil shavings,” he muttered to himself.
Sipping his freshly filled cup, he made his way back to his desk, sat down, and reached for the file on the Mikal shooting. Only it wasn’t there. Frowning the detective stood up and started searching the top of his desk. Not finding what he wanted he began pulling his drawers open and searching them then slamming them shut. He looked under his desk. No file was to be found, and the box of evidence was gone. Detective Gordon was on his hands and knees, his head under his desk when a cheery voice rang out.
“What did you loose, your virginity?” the voiced laughed.
Startled, Gordon raised his head quickly, smacking it on the under side of his desk. Rubbing his head he stood up and glared and the detective before him.” Very funny Murray. No I didn’t loose my oh never mind I left a file on my desk and a box of evidence under it. Did you see any one take them?”
“Sure someone from evidence came and picked everything up a few minutes ago. He said you authorized it” Detective Murray replied.
“Damn “Gordon exploded, “I never told any one to pick it up. Do you know who it was?”
“Some new guy, never saw him before, said he just started.”
Shaking his head in disgust, Gordon opened his desk drawer un-holstered his service weapon and glared at Murray, “just how long have you been a cop?”
“Up yours “Murray said and stormed off as Gordon headed down to the evidence locker in hopes of finding the man who had taken his file and box and getting it back.
All the way down the elevator, Gordon cursed himself for leaving the evidence unguarded but hell it’s a police station. It should have been safe there. Getting out of the elevator, he made his way down to the evidence locker. As he opened the door to the room filled with boxes and boxes from all the crimes on going, cold as well as closed, he saw three men. Two of the men were standing by the loading dock where a dirty white paneled van was parked with its rear door open. The third man was holding what appeared to be Gordon’s missing evidence.
Gordon stopped and yelled, “Hey what do you think your doing?”
The three men stopped and Jack turned to Gordon and smiled, “its ok officer, we have authorization to turn the evidence over to the your superiors.”
“On whose authority? I never heard anything.” Gordon continued.
“Don’t you hate it when they keep you in the dark? I have the paper work right here.” Jack replied evenly.
Gordon began walking toward Jack his hand on his holster. “OK show me.”
Jack thought darkly to himself, I’ll show you all right, and then he spoke "Sure no worries its right here.”
Jack reached into his pocket but instead of the papers, he pulled out a Sigma .380 and fired. The bullet struck Gordon square in the chest. Fortunately, the bullet struck his ST Christopher medal and was deflected into his shoulder. Gordon dropped to his knees, his gun falling to the floor. He slumped over on his side blood beginning to pool around him on the concrete as he watched Jack walk over to him gun still pointing at him.”
“See what you made me do?” Jack asked”and they told me not to kill anyone but you had to be a good cop and couldn’t leave things well enough alone. Just then, Gordon coughed and bloody bubbles slipped past his pale lips.
“Got you in the lung did I, well how about I just put you out of your misery.”
Jack prepared to fire the gun again when they heard the elevator door open down the hall.
The inside man panicking ran over to Jack and grabbed his arm, “Look you said it your self. You hit his lung, he’s a goner. Lets get out of here before you have to shoot someone else.”
Jack brushed the mans’ hand off his arm and looked down at Gordon who was beginning wheeze and cough.
“Ok your right, he is as good as dead. Lets blow this dump. What are you going to tell them you know about “Jack asked waving his gun in Gordon‘s direction.
“No problem I was out in the alley having a smoke when I came back he was down, nothing I could do, never heard a thing, never saw who did it.”
Jack and Jim finished loading the evidence into the van and quickly drove away. The accomplice left the evidence locker by the same route and walked up the alley to establish his alibi. Pulling his mp3 player out of his pocket, he stuffed the buds into his ears and cranked up the tunes. Pulling a cigarette out of his other pocket, he quickly began to inhale deeply and quickly. He would need to have at least four cigarettes smoked to provide him with long enough alibi for the shooting.
Gordon lay on the concrete floor in the evidence room. His blood pumping slowly out of his body. He could hear people talking in the hallway, they were laughing. Gordon prayed they would come in and find him. He didn’t want to die. Not here, not today, not on his first day as a homicide detective.
He tried to call out but no sound passed his bloody lips.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Deathlok -
Szechwan Beef, Fried Wonton and Pork Yat in hand, Jackie and Winchell approached his apartment. They entered the modest two room apartment. Winchell flicked the light switch.

“With all the things that have happened tonight, you know what I find the most puzzling?” queried Jackie.

“What’s that?” Winchell asked distractedly. “The Comb? The Hair? The Dead Body that isn’t there?”

“That you would eat something called “Yat!”

“The Spaghetti-Os of the Orient.” Winchell replied with a smile. “You are trying it. Just will be insta. . . . .

Winchell stopped in mid-sentence as he and Jackie simultaneously noticed someone sitting in the recliner.

Jackie. . . . Winchell. I’ve been looking everywhere for you two.

“A lie!” thought Winchell. Supervisor X never looked for anyone. He always knew where everyone was and what they were doing. . .. even if they didn’t work for the Company.

“I understand that you have been working hard on locating Mikal. The company appreciates the extra effort you both have put in for a colleague. However, you both have other work to do. The Company has put some high level people on this Rosakoff thing. We should find him soon. You can stop wasting your efforts there. Thanks for taking the ball on this one. If we here something, we’ll let you know. I know he was a friend of sorts.”

With that, Supervisor X got up and walked to the door. “Enjoy your . . . . . .food.” And with that, he closed the door.

“You know he was talking about that Yat stuff.” Said Jackie.


Later as the picked at the remaining Wontons, Jackie caught Winchell’s eye. Making a gesture at the door, she gave her shoulders a little shrug. Winchell held up a finger in caution. He got up went to the sofa reached inside one of the cushions and brought out a small device. He turned it on, gave the room a sweep and said “It’s okay, we can talk!”

“Bug Detector?” Jackie asked, impressed.

“You can never be too careful. As our recent visit will show,” said Winchell.

“So what was that all about, do you think?” asked Jackie.

“What I think is that we better be able to trust each other. Because I think that we may be in a little more trouble that we thought.”

Worried, Jackie picked at the last of the Pork Yat.

Pointing the device in his hand at Jackie, Winchell smirked, “I told you!”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RT -
He could hear them, "How 'bout them Phillies?"

"Yeah, battling for first place, but then they smell up the field with a bad game--as usual."

"This is the year, I can feel it!"

"You're an ass."

"Not as much as you smell like one. Now put out the butt and let's get back upstairs before we get caught down here catching a break."

Just as Detective Schlitzman reached down to salvage the extinguished cigarette, he saw the faint trickle of blood seeping out from under the evidence room door.


As Gordon woke up from surgery, all he could think about was how much he wanted to vomit. The fever, the anesthesia, the tubes coming out of his side, and the thought of what had happened to him made him too sick to want to deal with it. "Nurse. I need something for the pain." And with that, he went back to sleep.

A few days passed and Gordon was feeling isolated. He'd been told that he had visitors, but he had been asleep at the time. However, as far as he knew, only a nurse made it through the gauntlet of protection standing outside of his door. Gordon was beginning to think he was the one being suspected of his own attempted murder.

Groggy from the medication and half awake, he decided he had the strength to watch the television. With his thumb holding steady on the remote he noticed that all that was on was the news. "B-o-r-i-n-g," he thought to himself. Half paying attention, half not, Gordon realized that they were reporting the death of a Detective Gordon killed on his first day as a homicide detective. That's when he noticed something about his room: There was no evidence of visitors--no cards and no flowers, and no windows.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Captain America -
Amalee quietly made her way down the damp alley. Parts of Empire could be very dangerous especially at night. Dirk followed at a discreet distance, watching.

As she reached the old warehouse she slipped inside. The ancient freight elevator hadn't carried anything in years. Silently she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. When she arrived there was no door to open, nothing to announce her arrival.
The floor, dimly lit from a distant streetlamp squeaked as she crossed. Dirk arrived at the fourth floor landing and listened but did not enter the room.

"It's good that you didn't keep us waiting" a voice said from the shadows.

"We had an arrangement. I'm here to collect not socialize". Amalee replied.

"We have a problem" the voice droned.

"What the f*ck are you trying to pull" Amalee snorted as her hand slipped inside her shoulder bag.

Mikhail Rosakoff isn't dead"
The messenger from the resistance said flatly.

"Thats bullshit,I shot him dead myself" she hissed as her hand clenched the grip of the 9mm pistol. Her breathing slowed, her eyes widened and the muscles in her forearm tensed.

"The body disappeared from the morgue, the Detective working the case was shot and the files have disappeared. Don't you watch the news?" he said sarcastically.

"You guys always knew there was a chance Mikhail could be absorbed into the WRK project. He was instrumental in getting the prototype up and running" That's not going to happen now". "You should be happy with your success".

"Still if he is not TOTALLY dead there is a chance his memory could still be dredged." The messenger pressed.

Amalee pulled the pistol from her bag as she took two long strides toward him. She aimed it directly at his head and qietly intoned :

"We had a deal you weasly f*ck. Your wasting my time. You guys want to bring down the Company. That's why you needed someone like me who could get close to him. What happens after the fact isn't any of my concearn. I suggest you get busy before I blow you away".

She thrust her Tally into his already outstretched hand.

"There's no need for that" the Resistance messenger said sheepishly. "I am fully authorized to complete the transaction".
With that he produced three calculators. He placed Amalee's Tally into them one at a time. The predetermined number of credits were transferred from secret, untraceable Resistance accounts.

When she was satisfied she placed the Tally and the gun back into her bag.

The messenger tried one last protest: "If Mikhail Rosakoff should become a problem at some time in the future our mutual friends will be very, very unhappy".

Amalee was already walking out. "I told you you stupid ass. I shot him. He's fucking DEAD!"

The blonde haired woman rejoined Dirk in the stairway. Together they disappeared down the alley and into the night.

Labels:

19 Comments:

At 2:22 PM, Blogger Captain America said...

Beuhler? Beuhler? Beuhler?

 
At 6:12 PM, Blogger Deathlok said...

I hear ya! I may have to jump back in with something. . . .maybe it because of the weekend.

 
At 6:22 PM, Blogger Deathlok said...

NOTE FROM THE EDITOR: I made another change in Part 4.

"Other than Andrea? No, not that I know of, but I really don't care so much as I am wondering what happened to Mikal."

If you look the story over, Jackie and Winchell talk as if they were friendly with Mikal outside of work. It's unlikely that they would not know his wife had red hair.

The redheads will always get you.

 
At 6:34 PM, Blogger RT said...

I think it is the weekend. I was planning on reading the whole thing tomorrow. My brain is still recovering. June-brain...it is mushified.

 
At 6:52 PM, Blogger momster said...

No one ever said she was a natural red head. I myself have red hair but I stared out as a brunette and I am heading my way toward blond.

 
At 6:52 PM, Blogger momster said...

whoops I meant to add that was a great connection to her though .

 
At 3:56 AM, Blogger RT said...

He could hear them, "How 'bout them Phillies?"

"Yeah, battling for first place, but then they smell up the field with a bad game--as usual."

"This is the year, I can feel it!"

"You're an ass."

"Not as much as you smell like one. Now put out the butt and let's get back upstairs before we get caught down here catching a break."

Just as Detective Schlitzman reached down to salvage the extinguished cigarette, he saw the faint trickle of blood seeping out from under the evidence room door.




As Gordon woke up from surgery, all he could think about was how much he wanted to vomit. The fever, the anesthesia, the tubes coming out of his side, and the thought of what had happened to him made him too sick to want to deal with it. "Nurse. I need something for the pain." And with that, he went back to sleep.


A few days passed and Gordon was feeling isolated. He'd been told that he had visitors, but he had been asleep at the time. However, as far as he knew, only a nurse made it through the gauntlet of protection standing outside of his door. Gordon was beginning to think he was the one being suspected of his own attempted murder.


Groggy from the medication and half awake, he decided he had the strength to watch the television. With his thumb holding steady on the remote he noticed that all that was on was the news. "B-o-r-i-n-g," he thought to himself. Half paying attention, half not, Gordon realized that they were reporting the death of a Detective Gordon killed on his first day as a homicide detective. That's when he noticed something about his room: There was no evidence of visitors--no cards and no flowers, and no windows.

 
At 4:00 AM, Blogger RT said...

That's anaesthesia. Hey, it is 4am... :)

 
At 10:26 AM, Blogger Deathlok said...

Actually, Anastasia is spelled. . . .No, Wait!

Your first spelling was correct. . .unless you are spelling in the proper 4AM Transylvanian.

 
At 10:56 AM, Blogger momster said...

I love how you saved him. I was thinking along those same lines but couldn't figure out how. You did it great. I cant wait to find out who has him.

 
At 10:24 PM, Blogger Captain America said...

Testing. Previous post didn't show up.

 
At 11:16 PM, Blogger Captain America said...

Third attempt:

Amalee quietly made her way down the damp alley. Parts of Empire could be very dangerous especially at night. Dirk followed at a discreet distance, watching.

As she reached the old warehouse she slipped inside. The ancient freight elevator hadn't carried anything in years. Silently she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. When she arrived there was no door to open, nothing to announce her arrival.
The floor, dimly lit from a distant streetlamp squeaked as she crossed. Dirk arrived at the fourth floor landing and listened but did not enter the room.

"It's good that you didn't keep us waiting" a voice said from the shadows.

"We had an arrangement. I'm here to collect not socialize". Amalee replied.

"We have a problem" the voice droned.

"What the f*ck are you trying to pull" Amalee snorted as her hand slipped inside her shoulder bag.

Mikhail Rosakoff isn't dead"
The messenger from the resistance said flatly.

"Thats bullshit,I shot him dead myself" she hissed as her hand clenched the grip of the 9mm pistol. Her breathing slowed, her eyes widened and the muscles in her forearm tensed.

"The body disappeared from the morgue, the Detective working the case was shot and the files have disappeared. Don't you watch the news?" he said sarcastically.

"You guys always knew there was a chance Mikhail could be absorbed into the WRK project. He was instrumental in getting the prototype up and running" That's not going to happen now". "You should be happy with your success".

"Still if he is not TOTALLY dead there is a chance his memory could still be dredged." The messenger pressed.

Amalee pulled the pistol from her bag as she took two long strides toward him. She aimed it directly at his head and qietly intoned :

"We had a deal you weasly f*ck. Your wasting my time. You guys want to bring down the Company. That's why you needed someone like me who could get close to him. What happens after the fact isn't any of my concearn. I suggest you get busy before I blow you away".

She thrust her Tally into his already outstretched hand.

"There's no need for that" the Resistance messenger said sheepishly. "I am fully authorized to complete the transaction".
With that he produced three calculators. He placed Amalee's Tally into them one at a time. The predetermined number of credits were transferred from secret, untraceable Resistance accounts.

When she was satisfied she placed the Tally and the gun back into her bag.

The messenger tried one last protest: "If Mikhail Rosakoff should become a problem at some time in the future our mutual friends will be very, very unhappy".

Amalee was already walking out. "I told you you stupid ass. I shot him. He's fucking DEAD!"

The blonde haired woman rejoined Dirk in the stairway. Together they disappeared down the alley and into the night.

 
At 11:56 PM, Blogger momster said...

Excellent chapter very exciting. Captain America! I especially like the hair color change.

 
At 11:19 AM, Blogger Deathlok said...

How is less redheads ever good??

RT, back me on this.

 
At 6:17 PM, Blogger RT said...

I don't know, but I've noticed my hairdresser has been making me blonder. I'll let you know what happens this Saturday...red undertones with lots of blonde highlights. Did I mention my hair is getting really long?

All I know is the redder hair makes my eyes look even bluer. (I'd say the red makes my eyes pop, but that would be really weird.)

The world needs more gingers!

 
At 8:31 PM, Blogger Snigglefrits said...

I tried red once- until it turned Garfield orange. :D

Anyway- hope y'all don't mind but this came to me after the migraine went away.

Winchell stared at his reflection. The evening before had taken it’s toll on him. He and Jackie had spent most of the night working out their plans for the next few days. Supervisor X’s appearance in his apartment last night had proven one thing- I they didn’t want he and Jackie looking for Mikal, it meant they knew exactly where he was.

People- dead or alive- didn’t get “lost” when The Company was involved.

Their plan was simple. He and Jackie would go into work as normal. She would gather as much information as she could on the conference call she and Mikal were to take part in the previous day; he would request some vacation time. Things had been overly stressful as of late, Mikal’s disappearance only adding to that stress. Nobody would think twice about Winchell wanting some time away. He’d buy a plane ticket to The Company’s resort area in the Bahamas. It would be a few days before he would be truly missed.

Jackie would be “abducted“ this evening. Winchell himself would call the anonymous tip into the police, seeing her pulled into a dirty white panel van by unknown assailants. That had been Jackie’s idea, since she’d seen such a vehicle somewhere just yesterday.

Neither of them would show any interest in Mikal’s absence beyond participating in the water cooler gossip sessions. If questioned about Winch’s sudden interest in vacation, Jackie would allude to it possibly being due to a rather intimate encounter they’d shared the night before. Nothing like the discomfort of an office romance to make a dedicated bachelor head for the hills.

Arriving together at work this morning would reinforce their tale Jackie thought as they pulled into the parking garage amidst their gawking coworkers.

“Jackie, wait.”, Winchell said as she started to get out of the car. “We’ll meet tonight at the South Star motel, right?”. She nodded in affirmation. “Be careful Jackie, one friend disappearing a week in enough for me.”.

He felt a slight tug in his chest as she walked away from the car. “I really do need a vacation.”, he muttered to himself as he gathered his briefcase and headed for the elevator.

 
At 8:33 PM, Blogger Snigglefrits said...

Gah, typo! Sorry.

First paragraph above should read:

Winchell stared at his reflection. The evening before had taken it’s toll on him. He and Jackie had spent most of the night working out their plans for the next few days. Supervisor X’s appearance in his apartment last night had proven one thing- if they didn’t want he and Jackie looking for Mikal, it meant they knew exactly where he was.

 
At 4:29 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

It is useful to try everything in practise anyway and I like that here it's always possible to find something new. :)

 
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