Young Writers Society

Prologue: Genesis of the Beginning



Forêt Des Quatre Piliers, France: February 10 10:19|

The metal sphere dimmed, the light receding from the room and once again leaving it mostly in shadows. Only a few indistinct shapes could be seen around the sphere, standing so still they might as well have been shadows.
“Set it on high again. We need to see how long he can last.”
The sphere, about a meter in diameter, flared again, the brilliant surface a blinding white. The man, Richelieu, was chained to a large circle, his arms and legs spread out so he looked like an X, arched his back and screamed.
“Is that the highest?”
There was a nod.
“Good.”
Richelieu screamed again, his eyes rolling into his head, foam frothing at his mouth. A monitor began to flash and a loud beeping sound filled the room. He started to shake, tremors tearing through his fragile body. Tears mixed with red slid down his face.
“Stop it.”
The light abruptly vanished, but Richelieu still trembled violently.
“He’s ready. Give him the shot.”
An assistant trotted over to the chained Richelieu.
“Get me the syringe.” The assistant syringe held the syringe up, so Richelieu could see it, before resting it on a choice spot on his neck and slowly depressing the plunger. The contents of the syringe were injected into his bloodstream and the clear liquid drained out. With a quivering sigh, Richelieu’s eyes shut, but the tension stayed in his body, his muscles hard and stiff.
“Excellent. Let’s make our report now, before it’s time.”

Richelieu, head hanging against his chest, sobbed. He was done for and he knew it. He would never survive another day. But he had a mission. A mission that he would complete. If he didn’t…
He shuddered at the thought. The consequences of failure were too great to even think about. Struggling, he raised his head. The lights had come on, illuminating his surroundings. In front of him the round orb stared as it always did. Though it was plain and undecorated, a malevolent feel emanated from it.
He twisted his head so he could see his bonds. They were made of some type of material that he didn’t recognize; they weren’t chains but a solid, ridged cable, attached to a ring that hugged his wrists and ankles. There were two more, also attached to a large band around his middle, made of the same material.
Around the room there wasn’t much to see. Except the orb. It dominated the room, intruding on everything, invading his waking thoughts and sleeping dreams. Richelieu looked over it again, unable to stop himself. It was connected to some sort of contraption, wires sprouting out of it, a makeshift control panel stuck onto the top. He also knew that there was some sort of glass observation box behind the orb where the scientists waited. The only entrance into the room was the windowless carbon-steel door on his right, but it was always locked. Two guards stood outside of it 24/7.
Richelieu was about to slip back into sleep when the door opened, and the familiar click of a cane on the cement floor echoed across the room. Richelieu looked up, too exhausted to say anything.
“I’m here to help you.” The voice was strange, like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “I’ve decided this is all a mistake. I’m sorry.” He took out a remote and pressed a button. Richelieu’s bonds retracted, dropping him to the ground.
The man who had just entered proffered a hand but the other man ignored it, picking himself up with obvious effort.
He stood up, rubbing his wrists where the manacles had bitten into them. His arms were sore from hanging for so long. The two faced each other, the newcomer almost a head taller than Richelieu. Without warning, Richelieu swung a fist into the newcomers soft belly, driving him to his knees, then kicked him once, twice, a third time, before yanking him up by the collar and searching his jacket. Inside one of the pockets, he found a Luger P08 semi-automatic. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the barrel against the newcomer’s head and pulled the trigger. A loud crack reverberated inside the confines of the room, and the newcomer was thrown back, his head hitting the concrete with a wet smack.
The two guards ran into the room, alerted by the gunshot, but with two more shots, also to the head, they fell. With a grim smile Richelieu walked over to the bodies. Sticking the P08 into his belt he grabbed the guns, Beretta Neoses, and several extra magazines. He had to find a computer. If he didn’t then all was lost. He had been granted a reprieve and now he had to make the most of it.
Kicking the door open he quickly checked the corridor. For some reason though, the placard on the door caught his eye. TEST LAB C-33/a. He blinked and looked back out at the corridor. Clear. He ran down the hall and stopped at the first door, flattening himself against it. He could hear the sound of the Nexus soldiers, Blackwood’s private army, running to the testing room. But these wouldn’t be any ordinary Nexus soldiers. They would be Nex Vexillum, an elite unit of the Nexus. Nex Vexillum were heavily armed, and ruthlessly dangerous. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
Throwing the door open he raised both of the guns, firing simultaneously into the corridor at the oncoming guards and into the room. With his foot he kicked the door closed so he was on the inside and dropped one of the guns.
Richelieu grabbed another magazine from his pocket, reloading as he threw himself behind a chair. Finished reloading, he pulled out the P08 and jumped over the chair, flipping a metal table up so it stood on its side. He fired from around the sides until the return fire stopped.
Gasping for breath, he dropped the empty P08 and retrieved the other gun from where he had dropped it, and surveyed the room. Half a dozen white-coated scientists lay around the room. All were dead, killed in the heated battle. The remains of a cabinet hung on the wall, torn apart by the firestorm, glass mugs falling out. A sink head had exploded and water sprayed around the room wildly.
But there was no computer.
Unless…
He hurried around to the other side of the table, looking through the pile of objects that had fallen off the table when he had flipped it. He sifted through, coffee, the remains of a mug, pencils, sodden paper, and there!
A tablet computer, silent black screen, cool aluminum backing.
But it was wet, coffee pooling around the edges of the frame. Please work, please work he prayed. He tapped the home button, and the screen came to life. With a shout of glee he opened the internet, logging onto his email account. As he did somebody began to pound on the door. Reinforcements. Setting the computer down, he began to search the cabinets until he found a gun, a Beretta carbine. Aiming it at the door he pulled the trigger. The gun leapt and bucked, bullets slamming into the door. Returning to the computer he quickly typed out a message, choosing a recipient from his address book. One more thing had to be done before it could be sent.
He was startled out of his concentration as the door shook, smoke billowing through the crumpled edges. Returning his gaze to the computer he selected an email from his inbox, clicking on a link. That link would activate a program that would send the email, then, when that was completed, wipe the computer clean, destroying everything on it. The program would temporarily mask the email, allowing it to slide underneath the radar. A proxy site would intercept the email and shuttle it around until sending it to the final recipient, once the program was confident all traces had been purged. Even later when the computer was searched, no trace of the email would be found; who sent it, who it was sent to, or what it contained would never be discovered.
The door buckled inwards before crashing to the floor. A spray of bullets burst in, catching Richelieu in the chest and throwing him backwards. There was the familiar click of the walking cane. The same man he had just killed minutes before stood over him, a Luger P08 pistol pointed right at his head. Behind the man with the gun he could see dark shapes with tubes strapped onto their backs and hoses in their hands.
He looked up at the P08. “How?” he croaked.
Then there was a crack and blood exploded in front of his eyes. Richelieu slumped to the ground, dead.

Mediterranean Sea, France: February 10 11:33|

The woman looked at the email that had just arrived. A great shaking sigh ran through her body. When would it end? Another dead. So many had died in the past few months.
But she couldn’t let her private feelings stop her. She forwarded the email to fifty-two more people, who would in turn forward it to whomever they thought could utilize its information best. When she had finished, she closed the computer and clasped her hands.
So, it was as they feared. His plan had started in earnest. They would need to stop him as soon as possible. Picking up the slim phone that lay beside the computer she dialed a number.
“Kent? I want you to continue your current operation.”
There was a pause and she continued.
“I know, I know. But I have new, frightening, information. They’ll probably need protection. I don’t know if he’ll do anything but I want to be sure. Thank you.”
Setting the phone back down she bowed her head. A tear trickled down her face.

rolf18 wrote:Prologue: Genesis of the Beginning



Forêt Des Quatre Piliers, France: February 10 10:19|

The metal sphere dimmed; the light receding from the room, andonce again leaving it mostlyin shadows. Only a few indistinct shapes could be seen around the sphere, standing so still they might as well have been shadows. Just used "shadows."
“Set it on high again. We need to see how long he can last.”
The sphere, about a meter in diameter, flared again Just used "again." Also, you don't have much justification for the usage of the word. , the brilliant surface a blinding white Using lots of adjectives. . The man, Richelieu, was chained to a large circle, his arms and legs spreadout so he looked like an X, arched his back and screamed. Elaborate. The word "writhe" could work well here.
“Is that the highest?”
There was a nod.
“Good.”
Richelieu screamed again, his eyes rolling into his head, foam frothing at his mouth. A monitor began to flash and a loud beeping sound filled A bit bland. the room. He started to shake, tremors tearing through his fragile body Is it fragile? Describe it. . Tears tainted with red slid down his face. Uh, though I like the idea, tears are never tainted with blood. That's saliva.
“Stop it.”
The light abruptly vanished, but Richelieu still trembled violently.
“He’s ready. Give him the shot.”
An assistant trotted over to the chained Richelieu.
“Get me the syringe.” The assistant syringeheld the syringe up, so Richelieu could see it, before resting it on a choice spot on his neck and slowly depressing the plunger. The contents of the syringe were injected into his bloodstream and the clear liquid drained out. With a quivering sigh, Richelieu’s eyes shut, but his muscles remained tense.
“Excellent. Let’s make our report now, before it’s time.”

Richelieu, head hanging against his chest, sobbed Hang on. I thought he was unconscious. . He was done for and he knew it. He would never survive another day. But he had a mission. A mission that he would complete. If he didn’t…
He shuddered at the thought. The consequences of failure were too great to even think about Hard to believe they could be any worse than this torture. . Struggling, he raised his head. The lights had come on, illuminating his surroundings. In front of him the round orb stared as it always did forward. Though it was plain and undecorated, a malevolent feel certain malevolence emanated from it.
He twisted his head so he could see his bonds. They were made of some type of material that he didn’t recognize; they weren’t chains but a solid, ridged Do you mean "rigid?" In that case, it sounds too much like "solid." cable, attached to a ring that hugged his wrists and ankles. There were two more, also attached to a large band around his middle, made of the same material.
Around the room there wasn’t much to see. Except the orb. It dominated the room, intruding on everything, invading his waking thoughts and sleeping dreams You don't have any justification for this. Give me a reason to believe you. In the meantime, think of another way to occupy this space after the comma. . Richelieu looked over it again, unable to stop himself. It was connected to some sort of contraption, wires sprouting out of it, a makeshift control panel stuck onto the top. He also knew that there was some sort of glass observation box behind the orb where the scientists waited. The only entrance into the room was the windowless carbon-steel door on his right, but it was always locked. Two guards stood outside of it 24/7.
Richelieu was about to slip back into sleep when the door opened, and the familiar click of a cane on the cement floor echoed across the room. Richelieu looked up, too exhausted to say anything.
“I’m here to help you.” The voice was strange, like nails scraping down a chalkboard I wouldn't call that "strange." I would say it's more along the lines of "grating." . “I’ve decided this is all a mistake. I’m sorry.” He took out a remote and pressed a button. Richelieu’s bonds retracted, dropping him to the ground. Uh, a bit sudden. You need to lead up to this more.
The man who had just entered proffered a hand but the other man ignored it, picking himself up with obvious effort.
He stood up, rubbing his wrists where the manacles had bitten into them. His arms were sore from hanging for so long. The two faced each other, the newcomer almost a head taller than Richelieu. Without warning, Richelieu swung a fist into the newcomers soft belly, driving him to his knees, then kicked him once, twice, a third time, before yanking him up by the collar and searching his jacket. Inside one of the pockets, he found a Luger P08 semi-automatic Searching him subtracts from the suspense. Say he pulled out the gun and shot him in the same sentence. . Without a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the barrel against the newcomer’s head and pulled the trigger. A loud crack reverberated inside the confines of the room, and the newcomer was thrown back, his head hitting the concrete with a wet smack.
The two guards ran into the room, alerted by the gunshot, but with two more shots, also to the head, they fell. With a grim smile Richelieu walked over to the bodies. Sticking the P08 into his belt he grabbed the guns Huh? What guns? , Beretta Neoses You don't have to tell me what kind. Guns are guns. , and several extra magazines. He had to find a computer. If he didn’t then all was lost. He had been granted a reprieve and now he had to make the most of it.
Kicking the door open, he quickly checked the corridor. For some reason though, the placard on the door caught his eye. TEST LAB C-33/a Will this come up later? If not, you don't need it. . He blinked and looked back out at the corridor. Clear. He ran down the hall and stopped at the first door, flattening himself against it. He could hear the sound of the Nexus soldiers, Blackwood’s private army, running to the testing room. But these wouldn’t be any ordinary Nexus soldiers. They would be Nex Vexillum, an elite unit of the Nexus. Nex Vexillum were heavily armed, and ruthlessly dangerous. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
Throwing the door open, he raised both of the guns, firing simultaneously into the corridor at the oncoming guards and into the room. With his foot he kicked the door closed so he was on the inside and dropped one of the guns.
Richelieu grabbed another magazine from his pocket, reloading as he threw himself behind a chair. Finished reloading,he pulled out the P08 and jumped over the chair it, flipping a metal table up so it stood on its side. He fired from around the sides until the return fire stopped.
Gasping for breath, he dropped the empty P08 and retrieved the other gun from where he had dropped it, and surveyed the room. Half a dozen white-coated scientists lay around the room. All were dead, killed in the heated battle. The remains of a cabinet hung on the wall, torn apart by the firestorm, glass mugs falling out. A sink head had exploded and water sprayed around the room wildly.
But there was no computer.
Unless…
He hurried around to the other side of the table, looking through the pile of objects that had fallen off the table when he had flipped it. He sifted through, coffee, the remains of a mug, pencils, sodden paper, and there!
A tablet computer, silent black screen, cool aluminum backing.
But it was wet, coffee pooling around the edges of the frame. Please work, please work he prayed. He tapped the home button, and the screen came to life. With a shout of glee Not exactly in character. he opened the internet, logging onto his email account. As he did somebody began to pound on the door. Reinforcements. Setting the computer down, he began to search the cabinets until he found a gun, a Beretta carbine Again, it'd be more effective if you described it instead of telling me the name. . Aiming it at the door, he pulled the trigger. The gun leapt and bucked, bullets slamming into the door. Returning to the computer he quickly typed out a message, choosing a recipient from his address book. One more thing had to be done before it could be sent.
He was startled out of his concentration as the door shook, smoke billowing through the crumpled Not the right word. edges. Returning his gaze to the computer, he selected an email from his inbox, clicking on a link. That link would activate a program that would send the email, then, when that was completed, wipe the computer clean, destroying everything on it. The program would temporarily mask the email, allowing it to slide underneath the radar. A proxy site would intercept the email and shuttle it around until sending it to the final recipient, once the program was confident all traces had been purged. Even later when the computer was searched, no trace of the email would be found; who sent it, who it was sent to, or what it contained would never be discovered.
The door buckled inwards before crashing to the floor. A spray of bullets burst in, catching Richelieu in the chest and throwing him backwards. There was the familiar click of a walking cane. The same man he had just been killed minutes before Uh, quite a lot of men had been killed in the last few minutesstood over him, a Luger P08 pistol pointed right at his head. Behind the man with the gun he could see dark shapes with tubes strapped onto their backs and hoses in their hands.
He looked up at the P08. “How?” he croaked.
Then there was a crack and blood exploded in front of his eyes. Richelieu slumped to the ground, dead.

Mediterranean Sea, France: February 10 11:33|

The woman looked at the email that had just arrived. A great shaking sigh ran through her body. When would it end? Another dead. So many had died in the past few months.
But she couldn’t let her private feelings stop her. She forwarded the email to fifty-two more people, who would in turn forward it to whomever they thought could utilize its information best. When she had finished, she closed the computer and clasped her hands.
So, it was as they feared. His plan had started in earnest. They would need to stop him as soon as possible. Picking up the slim phone that lay beside the computer she dialed a number.
“Kent? I want you to continue your current operation.”
There was a pause and she continued.
“I know, I know. But I have new, frightening, information. They’ll probably need protection. I don’t know if he’ll do anything but I want to be sure. Thank you.”
Setting the phone back down she bowed her head. A tear trickled down her face.

Well, there you go! I hope this review was helpful.

-Kafka

Hey there Rolf,

Sorry for the delay, but I'm here now.

Well, Kafka did a pretty thorough review, so I'm simply going to speak of the story.

I think you did a great blending of action and description. I could easily visualise what was happening, although there's a few instances I didn't understand. When he tears down the hallway, into the first room. It would have been nice to know before there were people in there, making us understand they would be caught in the crossfire. Maybe saying he shoved someone out of the way, gun went off and killed him, or something.

Also, where were the Nex coming from, how many were there, and how did he survive against them? Why didn't he just slip into the room unnoticed. That is the part I'm unclear about. It felt like he was looking for a fight, know what I mean? Maybe I just didn't understand the scene, but . .. It's still quite early here and I haven't had a coffee yet

Other than that, I thought it was a great beginning, both intriguing and interesting and I would love for you to let me know when you post more.

Tanya

Hey Rolf, here for a review as requested!

Okay, so since Kafka got most of the nitpicks, I'm just going to focus on the story.

I think you've got a good, strong start here, which isn't always easy to do, so kudos! You've thrown us into a high-action, adrenaline-pumping beginning and I wasn't confused or bored or anything else. It has a good spy movie feel to it, which I'm guessing is where you're going with it.

One thing I found to be a little inconsistent was Richelieu's breakout from his cell; originally, when he was in his cell, I got the impression that he was feeling very sore, weak, and tired. But then, in an instant, he suddenly attacked the other man and shot him, then shot the two guards. Was he really that good of a shot to be able to get head shots in his weakened state? And would the man with the cane really have been so careless, between releasing Rolf from his bonds and coming in with a loaded weapon? It seems very foolish and risky.

That was really the only part that I found to be a little odd. The rest of the story was a great bundle of action, and the ending with the woman was good, too.

Please let me know if you've got any questions or whatnot, and keep up the good work! Cheers. (:

Sorry it took so long to review you! I haven't been online in a while.
This story is very James Bond-esque. I thought It could use a little more descriptions. Your description of the room he was being held captive in was really good, but I think you could describe the action scenes more. That's what your audience wants! Action, secret government conspiracies, big guns... that sort of thing.
Good job. Keep it up!

But I have new, frightening, information

I think you want to take the comma out after frightening.
Would he really kick the door closed behind him when he's shooting people? Could he do it after he's shot everyone? I'm just not sure how realistic that was. (But the rest was totally believable )
Also, when he shouted with glee that the computer turned on...it wasn't as James Bonds-y then. But that's totally your call.
Coolio story! I'm insane with curiosity. (I'm insane always, but you know what I mean.)
Keep writing!!!