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Old February 14th, 2015, 11:33 AM   #1
Vlerchan
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Join Date: August 31, 2013
Location: Ireland
Age: 21
Gender: Cisgender Male
Default Vlerchan's Quick Fics.

I got back into writing fiction after an almost two year pause in the last week or so. I'm not jumping into writing something proper though. I need to build a world and characters first. To do that I'm writing a collection of shorts which are written in one go and I don't bother editing. I thought at the same time I might get some feedback on the actual writing. Even if that writing is just something I put together quick - it is all helpful.

The below are all pieces of science-fiction. What I write is also not placed in chronological order because I don't consider this stuff in chronological order - and it is being ordered by the date of writing. It contains 'adult' themes. That means I've included graphic violence - inc. against woman if that's extra-awful to you - and profane language and probably drug use and the likes later on. If you are not into that then it's a good idea to stop reading here - because it's all there from the off.
1.

Name?

The request was met with another silence.

It hung for a few seconds before the large, meaty fist of the second interrogator swung again to punish her. More blood gushed about Kaew's mouth, swirling about to meet and combine with the results of previous blows. However, it did nothing to end her silence; like it had not the time before, and the time before that:

She just sat, tied down in her chair, and took it.

The first interrogator leaned in, obviously frustrated with the fruits of his labour. I'm going to be back in a half hour, I'm expecting co-operation then; for your sake. She offered an almost-maniacal grin in return; blood bubbled about her teeth; before, in face of her interrogators confusion, she spat it all in his face. There was a momentary glimpse of his horrification caught before a severe pain collected around her own face - and an intense feeling similar to the experience of zerograv pools overtook her.

--

It could have been minutes, hours, days before Kaew came to again. Immediate confusion overswept her as she collected her bearings: a tug of her wrists and feet indicated she was tied-up; the cold solidness which she felt across her left cheek, the fact she was on the floor. A sharp headache brought back recollections of what had happened she had caught her interrogators knee in her gaze right before it had impacted with her nose; the pool of blood spewing out from her vision confirmed her hazy memories. The flattest of groans escaped her as the events of the last few hours came back. It was followed by one immediate consideration:

She needed to escape.

But she couldn't see how. Her perspective on the ground offered not a single positive. The room itself stank of human excrement: shit, and piss and sweat; it was an overwhelming reminder of where she found herself. The view was as grim. Filth clung to the soulless, granite walls that contained her, a dull light emanated from the bare bulb which hung above her; otherwise, the room was undecorated. She could remember a single steel door being the one entrance. It took all that was in her to swallow the rising pessimism within her:

She wasn't going to let herself die in this dank hole.

2.

The make-shift conference room of the Weathermen News Society lay a-strewn with used papers. It was an expensive practice; the dramatic shift to tablets had occurred one hundred years earlier with the introduction of the size-configurable iWrite, and each new phase of recylcisation produced less and less of the paper material. However, there was no other way to ensure that their writings remained secure and confidential; and it was their borderline-schizophrenic emphasis on maintaining security that almost assuredly kept them alive on Orbital-3: Sesha-Naga.

At that moment, the room itself was warped in the vigorous debate of the soceties management; which, incidentally, included all members of the small cabel; 8 in total. The de facto president, for the they did not believe in leadership otherwise, Mani Ghatak was yet to speak; though, at the same time, he barely listened. The man was caught-up in his own internal debate: the remarked-on data file rested in his jacket pocket. He flicked a traditional ball-point pen about his long, slender fingers as his thoughts convened:

It was, without a doubt, the most important piece he'd come across in his thirty year-long career of underground investigative journalism.

Looking for guidance, Mani tuned back in.We publish this under the Weathermen name and we are all dead inside the next forty-eight hours. It was a co-workers emotional-fuelled tone; Harish Javeri's, he confirmed with a quick glance the speaker's direction; a group two breeder, someone who had a future. However, the argument was shot down within moments: We might as well be dead for all 3 offers. Mani tuned back out at that. It was a summarised re-hash of the opening arguments. There would need to be a vote soon, he imagined; consensus-gauging was always useless.

Another minute of the same tired back-and-forths passed, no decisions were made, and Mani opened his mouth to offer an opinion, his own decisions made. It was never heard: with an intense suddenness about it the room filled with darkness, the lights extinguished; a loud bang out by the porch sounded within almost the same moment confirming what was happening. Mani was on the move before the buildings emergency generators had kicked in; through the room's rear-door and up the stairs towards the societies single archaic personal computer:

He slammed the door shut behind him. At most, he knew he would have a no more than a minute to hard delete all the stored data; freeing their informants from the chance of follow-up repression. However, that was complicated by the existence of the coveted data file. He could not die without that being broadcasted. With a few rapid keystrokes Mani logged-in, and a few more he had opened up and highlighted his entire intermail contact list. There was no chance of the mail existing even more than a few minutes from sending; the Orbital-3, Board for Collective Security would ensure that. But he was sure it would be enough time for the message to be accessed.

As the shooting downstairs quietened, Mani realised what little time he had left. Whilst his right hand continued acting to upload the data-file, his left began to fumble through the side-drawer contained in the table the computer was positioned on. It took him a bit to find and grasp the long-barrelled revolver, and on grabbing hold he frantically withdrew it. He could here a rush of movement on the top-floor as he finished setting the data to upload to his contacts. Now abandoning the process, he gripped the revolver in both hands and pointed at the closed door.

Seconds passed. He counted them in his head, lining-up his breathing with the passing of each. There would be a single six-bullet round, no more, to do as much damage as he could. The door burst open during the fourth second. Mani let loose a shot as the first agent revealed itself. It missed, and the chance for a second never came; the agent sprayed-back with its sub-machine gun. Bullets which impacted the journalist where caught in the nanoweaves of his protective vest, saving him instant death. Nevertheless, the transfer of kinetic energy lifted him off his feet, and sent him to the ground. Disorientated, he couldn't move for his broken ribs, and groaned as the agent approached in his glassy vision.

The small-calibre bullets shredded through his skull, and sent Mani's brain across the back-wall. However, not before the journalist offered one, last disquieting smile in response to the indicative ping of a completed data uploaded.

3.

Alex Chan stared out towards the sweaty metropolis of Bang-Shai, Om Noi-sphere; one of the three Thai-cultured habitats in stable-orbit off Mars. Even at 3am it didn't sleep; the bustling hive of filth, degeneracy, and convulsing wealth served as the main investment hub for the entire Thai expedition. It disgusted Alex to be standing guard within the main offices of one of its largest benefactors; Mai-Kai holdings, whose activities counted for a twentieth of the wealth produced in the Mars zone. But he had a wife and child to feed, so without complaint he spent eight hours at a time, rifle in hand, roaming the second floor's outward-facing corridors; bored.

Moments passed, Alex gazing out, before the familiar vibrating around his wrist indicated that he had spent too long standing still; Mai-Kai fitted all their guards with the same wrist-based trackers, wages were docked on the basis of their recordings. With a sigh, he turned from the window, and wandered towards the bathrooms; a weirdly emphasised part of his walk-around. He stepped inside, and died:

The bullet caught him beneath the chin, severing his brain stem before he even realised he was under attack. Lifeless, the body slumped inside the doorframe; though, the attacker had caught it in their arms before it had impacted with the ground. With that, it was dragged into a stall and deposited on one of the seats. Blood dribbled down his neck from the small wound; there was no pumping, one thing the attacker had realised quite early in their career was how dramatically films displayed gunshot wounds:

Importantly, it didn't stain the uniform; which was, with no head paid to the idea of a dignified death, rapidly stripped from the guard and transferred to the attacker. Despite her boyish shape, there was no accounting for Kaew's biological-distinguishers; the uniform felt tight around her waist and chest, and remained a size too big. However, there was no doubt in her mind that she would pass in it. Before leaving, she spotted the wristband; but, judging she would be long gone before an investigation could be conducted, she left it on.

The stall door was locked from within, and without further reflection on the dead man stored inside, she stepped out of the bathroom and onto the corridor; rifle in hand. She had a job to do.
In particular I'm looking for a critique of 2. and the first part of 1. which I think are particularly awful for reasons I'm not quite able to put my finger on. Though I would love feedback on all of them.

I will be adding more as I write them. Even if I'm not getting feedback. Just because it's a good idea to have them contained in more than one spot.

".... the result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth is not that the lie will now be accepted as truth, and truth be defamed as lie, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world - and the category of truth versus falsehood is among the mental means to this end - is being destroyed ... [H.A.]"

Last edited by Vlerchan; February 14th, 2015 at 11:39 AM.
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Old February 21st, 2015, 05:15 PM   #2
JamesSuperBoy
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Default Re: Vlerchan's Quick Fics.

I like the story and thanks for sharing - I have copied it over to a word.doc and will read later and come back and post up -- hope thats ok but do write more and share it.

I like your short concise points that is good to go.
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