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Young Writers Society
Wed Nov 09, 2011 7:40 am
Eric Sharp|Nova District|Nova Journal Office
Heels clap as the intern moves across the office, spreading her fingers through her wicker blond hair, resetting it. She uses the plate glass wall overlooking the city skyline as her mirror and fixes the buttons of her blouse and flattens her skirt. Her focus adjusts outside, the city lights glow like the last embers of brush fire. "It's beautiful". She's never been in Sharps office, but by god it is big, the office of course. And so high, she doesn't want to get too close to the border-less glass, every step closer feels like a stolen breath.
"Go clean yourself up in the bathroom downstairs," Sharp began, "I have some things to take care of." With that he disregarded her with an expansive wave of the hand, his other hand lifted a sheet of paper, under which he studied something carefully.
The latest blonde disappeared through his office doors, but he paid her no further attention. He reread the note, and swallowed hard. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead and pensively turned and stood, looking out over the city like a sentry.
He turned back, lifted the note close to the sharp tip of his nose and eyed it over the lip of his glasses.
You will be dispatched for all the evil you spin. Three days
Third one this week. The crazies were getting crazier it seems. But why the hell were they so concise this time. No
s, no magazine-cut rag-tag font. Something was off. He might have taken it seriously, but who could touch him in his tower. He scratched at his stubble, scrunched the note in a fist and tossed it in the bin.
Holding nine down with one gold clad finger the intercom hummed.
"Jessica, get Hyatt on the line."
Fri Nov 11, 2011 9:11 pm
I know that Nora doesn't have a profile made, but I think I made her personality and appearance well enough in the post, as well as her role in the resistance.
Dr. Mitchell Hawes | Dining Hall
Mitchell wasn’t one to confess his problems to anyone within hearing distance...especially not co-workers like Millie. But, in all honesty, Millie always had that quiet,
I have two ears and one mouth if you need to talk
vibe going on, and that meant he could, in theory, get away with a complaint or two.
After all, it wasn’t every day that he got held at gunpoint at his locker.
He let out a long, agonized sigh, and dropped his head on the table, knocking over the shaker of
salt. Millie turned it right-side up and tidied up the mess. “I know your tired sighs, Mitchell, and that wasn’t one of them.”
He turned his head, resting an ear on the table, and looked up at her with half-lit eyes. “Have you ever been held at gunpoint?”
“A time or two in college. Only after curfew, though.”
“Some bearded bandit appeared in the lockers just a while ago...held a gun to me and stole a strand of hair.”
“I’m hoping it’s a crazed fan, and not someone after--”
“--DNA sampling,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Aside from blood, a strand of hair is the easiest thing to process for DNA replication.”
“...so a man desperate enough for my DNA that he’d use a gun...” Hawes picked up his head, a sudden heavy realization slamming into his chest.
“...is clearly up to no good. Mitchell, you should’ve told security.”
“I--I didn’t think--”
Millie picked up her remaining food and trashed it, pulling on her coat. “Come on. We have to get to the SENTRY office.”
__ __ __ __ __
Nora Fields | Medical Complex, Bottom 3rd Floor
Nora sat forward in the dark, holographic screens interchanging in front of her eyes. Her fingers were furiously typing away, programming the finishing touches on
. After several minutes, she sat back in her rolling chair and placed her fingers to her temples, rubbing in circles and murmuring to herself, “Jude cannot screw this up, he cannot screw this up.”
But he totally could. But her opinions wouldn’t matter to Noah. She was an analyst, a programmer for their operations and the general engineer. Nothing of a field agent like Jude or Isaac...which made her wonder about the fire-arm at her side, tucked between layers of clothing beneath her coat.
Nora looked up at the screens and sighed, aligning the finishing program into place. Now it was just a matter of Ju--
“--I have it!” he barreled through the sliding door into Nora’s operation room and stood in front of her desk, hands on his knees and panting as if he’d run a mile in mere minutes.
“You extracted his blood that quickly?” Nora narrowed her eyes, fixing her glasses on her nose. “I expected you to bring him here--you’ve never been one to muck around with the red stuff.”
“No,” he said, grinning slightly, “but I got his hair!”
Nora bit down on her bottom lip, internally biting her tongue as she stood, tying the belt around the waist of her trench coat. She stepped forward, heels clicking in the hollow room. “It will take our machines days to process this!”
“So...you’re gonna make me go back...”
She hesitated, thinking. “No,” she murmured, turning back to her computers. She sat down in her chair and modified a file, bringing up a 3D map of the complex. “Luckily, I can bypass their security for now, so we won’t need his match just yet.”
Jude grinned, poking out his chest proudly.
“I have the virus plugged for the television station so everyone will get a good look at the carnage, and fortunately for us, Hyatt will be occupied tonight, so there will be no response from Mr. Hold-The-World-Together.” Nora looked up, grinning. "Contact Noah. Tell him we’re ready."
A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.
— Franz Kafka
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