The all out status war

Shuan:

Shuan sat on the the trunk of the Jaguar that he had taken from Lombardi's house and looked at his phone.

8:36 am

The battery light flashed at him, and it had about as much energy left as he did. He knew that he only had enough battery life left for one maybe two calls. The car had long since ran out of gas and he had no means of getting it back to Lombardi's house. He flipped the phone open to the key pad and quickly typed:

your car ran out of gas on peach street between sixth and seventh... still looking for Maria.

He hit send and the message transmitted to Lombardi. His eyes grew heavy and his feet weary, he had been up all night looking down every back ally and abandoned building but he still had no Idea where Maria was. The last act of the dying battery was spent trying to call her one last time.

Ring
ring
ring

“Hello?” the voice on the other end was Maria but she sounded confused.
“Where the hell have you been?” Shuan said in a tone that was much more harsh than he had intended it to be.
“I am at home,” She said like she was trying to hint at something, “yeah, I know.” she laughed.
“I have been up all night looking for you.”
“yeah, last night was crazy uh. Look I have some one here so I am going to have to call you back, kay?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, later to night sure.”
“I take that as yes.”
“9:15 at Los Families, sounds great, I will see you there.”

With that she hung up the phone.

I sacrificed the five hours I could have gotten of sleep for that... Oh well at least it is Saturday so I can go home and check out this drive and get some sleep with out worrying about school.

When he got home he saw that his fathers car was parked in the driveway. The smell of fresh baked cookies filled his nostrils as he walked through the door way and his father was seated in an old arm chair facing the door when he came home.

“hey there son,” he said as Shuan passed him and headed up stairs. “You didn't come home last night.”
“Yeah, I stayed at Keith's house after the dance, I didn't want to drink and drive.”
“good thinking, but I think that we need to sit down and talk about what happened last night.”
“Sure thing but can it wait until I get a nap in?”
“Yeah, I guess so but as soon as you get up come get me I will be in the garage.”
“Okay,”
he knew that his father wasn't talking about Keith's house or most likely even the dance and Shuan didn't want to deal with it right now. He need to read the file, take a nap, and then meet with Maria.

she is the only one I can trust with what happened last night, I just hope I find a way to tell her that doesn't make me sound crazy.



*** I will post mab tomorrow, I think she will be out of rotation a lot but I won't be posting with her all the time so I hope no one minds.***

*I don't want to post out of order, so I need to wait for atleast Billy to post. Hope that's okay with everyone else.*

Mikael

"Ok Mac. You toilets upstairs, theres food in the fridge, your bedroom is in the centre and i'll have a man in each of the surrounding rooms while you sleep." I saw the hurt look in his eyes as he mumbled in agreement.
"Look, Mac i'm sorry about the whole ULAS thing alright. I didn't have a choice. You were the best and i had a job to do." I heard a noise from the adjoining room and spun bringing my mp5 to bear. I moved forward and kicked open the door before diving forward to the frightened faces of two teenagers.
"Whoa man were sorry." Said one his speech slurred and his breath smelling abismal. They both had the good sense to put there hands above the heads.
"How the hell did you get here?" i asked grouchily.
"The backdoor. We thought the place was deserted."
"Well it's not. I live here. Im going to the loo and by the time i get back you had better be gone." I turned and took two steps before i heard a door bang. I've still got it, i thought with a note of happiness. I took a quick look at the back door and sent someone to get a screw driver and a bolt. No one was disturbing Mac.
"Hey you got that list?" i asked when i walked back in. He handed a scrap of paper and without a word strode out of the room. "Well i'll visit everyday at 2. Good luck man and i'm sorry we couldn't stay friends."
I walked out of the room and clambered onto my bike. "I'll see you men at 2 everday and i had better not catch you slacking or it's the scream."

C'mon Billy. Don't quit on us! Puh puh puh please!?

**Sorry, sorry! I forgot it was my turn to post.**

Andy

Hanging up the phone with a sigh, Andy swore under his breath. This was not a deal he'd ever wanted to agree to, it meant putting himself closer to one side of the war than the other, and he really didn't want that. He shook his head a little. Worst of all, he hadn't even told the others yet. Although he did think that they'd agree he'd done the right thing. Lombardi was the only person with the money to get in a proper specialist, and agreeing to the deal was probably the only way to make that money available. What other reason could Lombardi have for saving Emily?

He made his way downstairs, needing to talk to Carlie and Alex about this. He knew they were there because Carlie had passed him a few moments before.

He found the two of them sitting together, resting their heads together, Alex's arm around Carlie. Andy sat down opposite them, leaning forward in his seat, "Guys...you're probably not going to like this, but I'm pretty sure it was the only way to save Emily. I think we've got to take a deal for the band."

"What deal?" Alex asked.

"Recordings, tours, just about everything we could want would be provided for us. And the...the guy behind it only wants a really small stake in the whole thing."

Carlie frowned, "Then why don't you think we'll like it?"

Andy signed a little, "Because the guy behind it is Lombardi, and taking it means connecting the band, however distantly, with the Colours."

*Hey guys, sorry i've been gone x Can someone fill me in. Loves*

** Yay! I'm glad you're back. So much has happened.

Emily is in the hospital and Andy agreed to a deal with Lombardi that would get her the best doctor money could buy. All he has to do is agree to let Lombardi fund your band with a minimal cut in the profit. We found out that the reason Lombardi is doing this is because he's Emily's brother somehow(oh my!). Alex, Carlie and Andy were in the hospital the whole night for her.
Styler was considering helping the peacekeepers but realized that he would be of no use in a world without war.
Lombardi went after Mab and threatened her life if she was the one who sent people after Emily and himself. She said it wasn't her. Agresta, the thesbian teacher, also denied having any idea who sent people after you. Now he has Agresta hire one of her agents to do some mystery job that involves getting revenge.
Mikael has taken his friend, Mackenzie into hiding with the protection of a butt load of men. They are sort of distanced from each other now because Mikeal has sort of used his old friend as a tool in the war with the Goths.
Shaun spent the whole night looking for Maria (Sam) who was captured by a psychotic slasher murderer. He never found her but she was aided by her Goth contacts and threatened if she didn't comply with what they want her to do.
But now its the next day and Carlie is speaking to Maria (Sam) at her house about something yet to be revealed.

Does that about sum it up for ya? I know... its a lot... but its good stuff!**

*oooh he's my brother wow lol, and were am i at the moment then?*

** Up to you but last you were in the hospital. You also got the best treatment that Lombardi could find.**

*okey, thanks *

Emily layed quietly in the empty room, Just her and her thoughts were present.

I wish someone would save me

* I REFUSE to let this dieeee!!!!!!*

Sam/Maria~~

"So," Maria turned back to her house guest, "Where were we?"

"I was questioning you," Carlie said blatantly.

"Oh yeah!" Maria clapped her hands, "And I was making coffee!"

"Stop being stupid," She folded her arms across her chest.

Maria couldn't help herself, this girl didn't know what she was trying to get a wiff of so being Sam she answered in with a chuckle then full on laughter.

"My friend is in a coma! You were there! This is sserious!!" She bit the air with her words as Maria kept laughing.

"Sorry," Maria wiped the tear from her cheek, she usually wasn't this mean, "It's just-" She burst out laughing again and left Carlie stunned. She didn't have a twisted mind as she appeared to be, it was just the fact that the girl was so, so left out. She knew nothing and she thought Maria understood it all, which was quite the opposite.

"You- Just- STOP!!!" The poor girl cried and that silenced Maria's laughter. Maira met her gaze as she unclenched her stomach. Maira didn't say anything.

"Why won't you just help me?" The blond asked.

Maria straightened her body up.

"Say something!" The girl cried.

Silence.

"I'm leaving!" And at that she stomped out the door leaving a silent Maria alone in her apartment.

"What a great way to kick of the day!" Maria's sarcasm bit the silence.

Sorry, about not being on. I'll try to be on more often during the summer.

*Okay I can finally post something, now that I have reread everything.*

Carlie

Carlie stormed out of Maria's apartment. She was so rude. How could she just stand there and laugh about a serious topic such as this? Was she mad? Carlie didn't know, but she couldn't handle people laughing about Emily being in a coma. She needed Alex.

She pulled out her cell and dialed Alex's number, all the while tears streaming down her face, "Hey, Alex. I need you.... Yeah meet me at the coffee shop on Wimbledon street. No, I'm not crying. I'm just out of breath.... Okay, see you in a few."

She shut her phone and sat down on the nearest bench. She leaned forward onto her legs and covered her face with her hands, and just let the tears keep coming.

**Alright. I got at least one more in me.**

Styler could almost refill his canteen to the brim with the streams of sweat streaking down his dirty cheeks to sustain himself in this dreary heat; wasn't it supposed to be early October? He sponged it away for what had to be the sixtieth time with the end of his white, sleeveless shirt. It returned as quickly as he swept it. As if the heat weren't hellish enough the air was soaked in humidity and felt like stale water in his mouth. He had already climbed for miles up and down seventy degree inclines in this weather, and the cuts and scratches covering his bare legs and arms attested to the thick, needly, brush from which he had just tread. The heavy backpack dug into his lower spine with every long stride and he cursed himself for not bringing one with a belt around the stomach. Weary, sweaty, and beat up, he looked like he had just been in one long cat fight but as he approached the top of the hill he felt a rush of relief hit him like he had plunged headfirst into cold ocean water; his eyes gazed through the mess of shrubbery to the summit clearing he was instructed to perch upon. Now, with new determination, he quickened his pace three steps for every previous one, fighting his sluggish legs as they melded into the sunbathed earth and pulled himself to the clearing. He turned with an arm spread stretch to see what he had just accomplished.

The view was spectacular.

From this spot above the woods he could see out for miles and miles of forested valley surrounding Treyton, the cityscape was mostly hidden between two hills like a boy playing peek-a-boo. Birds chirps filled the mountain air like a practice session of solo artists all on a different melody. He inhaled deeply, gratified with himself, and turned around to the forest ahead of him. In a straight line down the side of the mountain the tops of the trees had been parted as if by Moses, peeking directly into an unsuspecting hut tucked neatly away in these parts. Styler was impressed with the completely clear line of sight available and silently praised his employer for finding such a fantastic spot.

He hooked one of his thumbs on the strap of his pack and slid it from his shoulder to the forest floor. He collapsed onto his butt and took his time gathering his breath because he knew as soon as he opened that backpack it'd be business as usual. It was necessary that he had his complete breath back before he attempted the next part of his task. He stretched out his arms, and legs as he stared up into the brilliant blue sky light, and thanked himself for bringing sunglasses. As soon as he felt ready, he pulled himself upright and tugged the backpack into his lap.

The backpack contained only a few things but only one was the sole contributor to his sharp back pains. The lighter objects were removed first: a small, silver PDA that he had to unwrap from cellophane, and a set of blue-tooth linked sunglasses, which he also had to unpack. The last item was a large, solid, black plastic case. He unsnapped the latches and opened it. Inside were the pieces of a broken down M107 sniper rifle all snug and tightly held in by black foam. He plucked each part from the case and began twisting them together, screwing in bolts and nuts where necessary, and swinging the collapsible legs of the bipod out. He stood the rifle up and basked in the monsters awesome glory, and he could almost hear the jagged edges of the weapon growl at their target, then attached the scope atop it. Now the beast could see. Then he picked the clip from the case and carefully checked each .50 caliber bullet for any signs of rust or dust. After assuring there was nothing he slammed the cartridge in. Now the beast could bite and bite it would.

He meticulously spent few moments aligning the scope, accommodating for wind resistance and distance, with the zeal of a model builder carefully piecing together a classic war plane of the 1950's. Down the eye was the unsuspecting window of the his targets house. The window was boarded completely, as were they all. Whatever vehicles they had must have been in the front, on the side he couldn't see which would prove difficult if he missed. He wouldn't miss, he was quite confident. Styler was one hell of a sniper and with the thing being ready it was going to eat up targets like wolves at a slaughter.

Though nothing would happen before Styler set up just a few more things. He reached for the sunglasses and PDA, replacing his glasses with the new ones, then flipped both devices on. With his thumb he navigated the options on the PDA, flipping the blue-tooth feature on and linking it with the glasses and suddenly the corner of the glasses filled with a bright but small white square. Again he played with the PDA, and opened a 'Receive Data from External Device' option. When prompted for the ID of the device he punched in the following: SAT-0556881BG and was then asked to input his passcode. He did so and a beep signified confirmation. The corner field of his vision where the box had been was replaced with an overhead photograph of the small hut down the way; he switched the settings to thermal. His eyes nearly gagged when they saw the results. He had expected resistance but not an army. The house was so hot with bodies that the glob in his sunglasses looked like someone spilled red paint. Frustration grew in Styler slowly but surely, like a rising tide, and he nearly called his contact right then but something drew his eyes back to the small readout. A blinking dot in the middle of the smear of red and as soon as it shifted along the house he knew it was his beacon. Styler Wayne was ready to make some cash.

The predator in him leaned down low and took a slow steady breath as he anticipated the movement of his kill. One eye remained glued to the HUD while the other stared down the scope, centered on the boarded up window. Though it was boarded up, he already knew behind the window was a long, narrow hallway leading to a room and a bathroom, all he had to do was wait until his target passed the window and he would strike with full force. Ten rounds wasn't enough to level the odds but it was enough to afford a miss or two. Still, he hoped he'd just need one. The idea of running from a bunker full of men through the woods did not exactly please him, having an extra bullet was like having another friend. So, he patiently remained a tiger on the prowl.

* * *

Prey was sometimes slow. Sometimes it never showed up at all. Styler had already been in his position for hours and the hot sun was beginning to scald his back. Even though he knew he'd be peeling it off like a snake tomorrow, he remained as still as death, moving only to take a swig of his canteen. Two more hours passed and he thought he had the opportunity but the blinking dot moved downstairs; he nearly broke his teeth against each other. Another hour passed and he noticed just as he was tucking the canteen between two long and thick branches that the dot had just passed his window. This time he thought he had broke his teeth after grinding them so hard that he had to check. He refused to drink another drop until the deed was complete. This time it didn't take nearly as long for the dot to pass the window again, ten minutes or so, and Styler was ready for for it completely. He squeezed the trigger of the high caliber rifle and it shouted its roar across the mountaintops like a bloodthirsty barbarian before battle. The recoil hit his arm with the force of a hydraulic ram and he knew he should have attached a shock pad to the end of it. It had finally come, Death was here. The dark smile of fate grinned broadly in the sweltering summer sky.

Still, he must be sure so he checked his sight to confirm the kill. At first, to his great delight he saw, through the now broken out portion of the window, then he recognized the partial face of Marsha Agresta, his former employer, as she slowly slid against the wall, her remaining eye wide with the shock of death snaking its tentacles around her and clutching tight. Stylers mind stopped dead cold as if he'd been dumped in the Atlantic. Sure enough, the target was down, but at what cost?

Marsha Agresta, leader and chief of the Thespian Guild, had given him a job that ended with her own death and now, to Stylers slowly settling horror, the Men in Black Coats would take her place. And they were nowhere near as evil as Agresta. They were like a storm front bellowing in on the dysfunctional island refuge of Treyton and no one would would be safe from their wrath. Not even Styler.

Oddly enough, after the fear subsided, Styler felt a sort of calm, collectedness that comes with the realization of ones inevitable future. The Men in Black Coats would surely organize things before anyone would notice Agresta's absence, and the war would surely continue with malicious rage fueled by the death of the important figure head. However, if the Men in Black Coats were promptly eliminated, the peace keepers could finally spread their message. After all, what chance would they have if the MBC heard of this? They would deliberately and methodically execute all key figures within it. Thats what Styler would do. Its what the MBC would do. But Styler knew how to stop it.

He set down the rifle and made double time back to his car with the zeal of a determined marathon runner. Sweat leaked down his face, staining his clothes, and the branches tore up his limbs to the point where blood traced down his long arms but he didn't care. As he swung open the car door, and plopped down into seat, he reached down for the silver .45 pistol, the one he used to kill his beloved Scarlett, with one thought in his head:

Styler was built to be a weapon of war, a murderer, a liar, a thief, a cheat, a seducer, anything he needed to perpetuate death and a constant stream of cash. Every last bit of him was this and he could never escape it. Knowing it now made him understand his mentors words in a way the he never realized. He wasn't even sure his mentor had ever intended this conclusion but it was so clear that he drank it in, thirstily.

Through death there is life.

Everything he was would be used to create a world without people like him.

He felt like saying something. He felt like promising Scarlet that he would avenge her death. But he wiped that thought from his head. Scarlet was just like him, and like him deserved no repentance. No. He would do this for Carlie, for Emily, for Alex, and hell, even for Fletcher. But more than anything, he was doing it for that kid he barely knew. The one who mentioned peace. The one who reached out a hand when Styler needed it most.

So, instead of words, Styler just cocked back the pistol to ensure a round in the chamber and it responded like an old sparring buddy with an excited, anxious, and ready to fight click. The gray sedan sped down the old road, toward Treyton high school where he knew he would mostly likely die. All he could do was hope that God, or whatever force greater than he, would count it for something in the end.

*I have no idea how long it took you to write and post that, but you can write dude! No doubt about it.*