RP: The SPO
*Last three rules (before the one about glass) have been added by request of an experienced RPer*
For quite a long time now- since about September last year- princesspeach94 and I were working on an RP. It started with a bit of brainstorming... I wrote a chapter around our first idea as some proof-of-concept and- despite how bizarre (and possibly terrible) it was- we settled on that. For the next few days I will be posting some additional chapters, to sort of flesh out the RP's universe and give it some backbone.
Once the chapters are all posted (four of them), the RP will immediately commence in this very thread. It is NOT scripted, so you, mister or misses 2K forumgoer, will sort of make it up as you go along. The story consists of: Mexican drug cartels; alien drug-slime; top-secret government agencies; and mutants. Enjoy.
Please bear in mind, I'm not the creator of the universe. I just wrote that story that will assault your eyes as soon as you scroll down. The universe was created by princesspeach94, and all credit goes to her.
NEWCOMERS! Read this! (It's important.)
Originally Posted by princesspeach94
-Use common sense
-Try to stay as consistent as possible (if your job is X, don't do Y unless it's necessary)
-Do not control other peoples' characters
-Do not kill off other peoples' characters, unless given consent
-Do not drive the story too far along with any one post
-Keep the content of the story within forum guidelines
-DO tell me if there are any vital rules that I have forgotten/overlooked (in the OOC thread)
-This comes from the real creator of the RP: "I would not like any fighting, cussing unless bleeped out, or prejudice while on the this thread or the rp thread." Do what she says.
-No passive aggression/subliminal aggression toward other players masked as RPing. Do not use the RP to bully, harass, criticize, or intimidate other players. You will be caught if you attempt anything of the sort.
-Do not use the RP in order to stalk another player. Do not become emotionally attached to another player's character or to the player him/herself and demand that the player rewrite the character in order to satisfy your desires. Respect the autonomy and right of all players to do as they please in accordance with the rules laid down by the creators of the game (Invader and princesspeach94).
-No rape scenes or rape. Discussion of rape is against 2K Forum rules. That is all.
-Do not forget not to touch the glass.
Last edited by Invader; 11-24-2012 at 11:24 PM.
June 15th, 2015
Northern Tamaulipas, Mexico
It had been a surprisingly uneventful trip. Julio Cárdenas Espinosa, a young man of 25, was just another courier, toting highly volatile, addictive, and illegal substances, just as he has for the past four years. His employer: the Los Zetas cartel. They were a cartel of traitors- consisting mainly of former Mexican Army soldiers who decided to betray their homeland for a few extra Pesos. Julio himself was not a bad person in any way, just an everyman caught in the middle of a violent and bloody tribe war of sorts. He was a short man, about 5'8; but more importantly, he was fast and deadly. That was good set of traits for anyone in his line of work. He was abnormally skillful at evading authority, so he was the guy who had to hike across the desert all night to give some anonymous cartel dirtbag his goods, which he would then to peddle to high-schoolers on a crash-course to a parasitic life of crime, and full-grown career criminals like himself.
Julio truly hated his line of work, but he and his wife Cecilia desparately needed the money- and there was lots of it to be gained doing this sort of thing. Here he was, so far from his "cozy" little apartment, with its filthy running water and its (barely) running A/C in that horrid pit called Mexico City... but it was not home that he missed. It was Cecilia. She always got so worried every time he had to go away on a task like this, and he didn't dare tell her what he had to deliver this time- not only because she would have a heart attack, but that the Boss would have cut off his tongue and feed him to the coyotes.
"Precious cargo" was an understatement. He really had no idea what it was they'd given him this time- it definitely wasn't any of the stuff he was used to carrying. He'd never seen anything like it- it was a vile of thick luminescent green fluid. It just didn't look right... he could see it glowing through his satchel. It was just unearthly... unholy, the increasingly shy religious part of Julio's conscience said. What did those bastard "scientists" (more like garage chemists) think up now, he asked himself, grimacing. What could that stuff do to a guy? It seemed more like radioactive waste than a narcotic. Maybe it was just that. Maybe those cartel *******s decided to capitalize on the light-headed feeling that must come with throwing up your own spleen. Wouldn't put it beyond those backstabbing sons of...
What it was was not his concern. He was the one responsible for the stuff- the one little worker bee who El Jefe could decide to squash the moment the thought comes to him. It was manifest that this stuff was extremely high-priority, sludge or not. Jefe would literally have his head if he screwed up. That's why they pay me the big bucks, Julio told himself ruefully. Merely pocket change to Jefe... Sometimes he wondered if there was any way to escape the Cartel's grip... This isn't any time to get sentimental, now...
He was past Reynosa now, marching through the nearly pitch-black wilderness. The border wasn't far now. Soon, he'd meet with Dirtbag A (Julio only dared refer to him as that in private), drop off the goods and he could find his way back home. On his own. Would it be so goddamned hard to leave me one of those rusty old pickups? You must have a warehouse full of them somewhere...
Julio pushed forward, anxious to get back home. Cecilia was probably ripping her hair out by now- due to the priority of this particular delivery, he took his time getting here, having been living off of whatever he could find that passed for edible in this barren wasteland for nearly a week.
Two Hours Later...
"You got the stuff?" Dirtbag A was leaning on his old, rusting Toyota pickup- of course. He was a very short, wide, and impatient man in his mid-50s. His love of Hawaiian shirts fit the look perfectly. His wide, round, wrinkled face was twisted into a deep, angry frown. The shadows cast by the rising sun only made the many contours on his face look all the more prominent (and by extention, hideous). "Well?" The Cartel man was trying extra hard to make Julio feel like an unwanted pest today.
"Yes, I've got it..." Julio handed him the vial, and wiped his hand on his pants. "I don't know what in the hell it is, but that's probably for the best."
"Mm-hmm... you are right, it is for the best that a worthless little sack of garbage like yourself be kept away from crucial Cartel secrets... most of which I am fully informed on." This was accompanied by a wide wolf grin. "Excellent job, Julio."
Julio tried very hard not to shoot the man.
Last edited by Invader; 03-31-2012 at 07:37 PM.
June 15th, 2015- 9:45 A.M.
Somewhere in Southern Tamaulipas, Mexico
"We're in the middle of ☺☺☺☺in' nowhere, man. Now's our chance." Agent Mark Brown (Callsign GUNMAN) lay prone in the sand, carefully observing his quarry's every move. His file at CIA reads: "Affiliation: Special Police Organization (private contractor). Contracted by Central Intelligence Agency. Purpose: black operations." The rest has been redacted. The files for the rest of SPO were nearly identical...
Brown and his partner Barry Ryan (Callsign SPYGLASS) had been stalking Julio Espinosa for seven hours. Both were hidden in top-quality ghillie suits, watching from a range so far as to be mistaken for tumbleweeds should they be seen. The newly-risen sun posed no challenge.
"Sounds good to me, GUNMAN. Look at that Cartel bastard! Look at that face... seems like one soulless bastard." Ryan remarked.
"Yeah. You know he's gotta be one wealthy sonuva***** now, too. Those Cartels hand out cash like it's nothin'. High-demand and high-profit ☺☺☺☺ they're sellin'. 'S why they're always such a pain in the ass for us- the sheer amount power they have is ridiculous."
Ryan gave that a moment of thought, and came to the same conclusion. It's like Prohibition, only if you give up this time the whole house of cards comes crashing down. In the past few years, there had been a huge surge in the amount of people in the United States that abuse narcotics. You legalize the stuff, and then these subversive Nazis come to power completely.
"Heh, picking these ****ers off one at a time is what they pay us the little bucks for, GUNMAN. We ain't gonna have any witnesses out here. You wanna give 'im his... shot?"
"Hell yeah. The doc's in the house, baby..." Brown extended the bipod on his modified M24 rifle, and peeked through the high-powered scope. He lined up his shot, carefully taking note of the wind and range. The gunshot erupted in the near-silence of the country. Upon releasing the trigger, Brown let out a low, mischevous laugh. "Cracks me up every time."
"Nice one, Brown... goddamn, that was fast." As Ryan studied Julio's unconscious body through his binoculars, he noted just how perfectly the tranquilizer had been delivered. Brown was a pro, just like the rest of the SPO. Both of them were former Marines, who had retired to work in one of the most respected mercenary groups in the world.
"America's soldiers at their finest, even if we ain't soldiers no more. Call in the helo, we'll have his lazy ass in an interrogation room ASAP." He let out one last chuckle, wondering where this all would lead... he'd been briefed on the situation, but it all sounded too crazy to be true.
"Yeah, let's get the hell outta here. Don't wanna be coyote ☺☺☺☺, do we?"
The dart's contents were already in full circulation. As the $10,000 chemicals found their way to his brain, Juilo Cárdenas Espinosa was sent on a nightmare fit for hell itself.
Later, In A Classified Location...
They had just gotten Julio into his seat in the interrogation room. In a similar room twenty feet away sat "Dirtbag A", Arturo Santana Mendez, who was on a similar mental journey.
"This... this stuff is like nothing I've ever seen," doctor Max Durling said as he handed the other man the lab results. "It sure as hell ain't anything from around here. It would seem to be highly addictive, and deadly too. I doubt the typical drug fiend will care about that last bit, though. Where did they get this stuff?"
"I think I have an idea," replied John Bell in his trademark Bronx accent. The CEO of the Special Police Organization (a very peculiar nomenclature for a private business, Bell had once thought- he didn't pick the name) observed the prisoner with a shake of the head. "What the hell have those government spooks gotten us into now..."
He took one last puff on his cigar as the subject's eyes flew open, accompanied by a deafening scream.
Last edited by Invader; 03-31-2012 at 07:43 PM.
June 16th, 2015
Somewhere in Northern Manhattan- 3:35 A.M.
Officer Joseph Franks was a new recruit the New York Police Department. He'd wanted to do some sort of public service, ever since being an eyewitness to the horror that was 9/11. However, his age had restricted him from doing so. Now that he was actually in the NYPD, he was ready to do some good. He had been born with a knack for detecting trouble, which he was certain would be damned handy.
He'd always hated patrolling this part of town, especially in the dead of night. It was dangerous enough for the common New Yorker, but his badge and uniform put a bull's eye on his forehead. The police were probably outnumbered ten-to-one in this concrete jungle. This was a city where a man could hardly have a stereo in his car and expect to keep it overnight, and being the one "pig" who stood in those thieves' way was not a good way to ensure a long, healthy life.
For Officer Franks, that itching feeling in the back of his skull was not uncommon. Trouble. Tonight, though... something was different. His head ached and his knees twitched. That worried the hell out of him. The last time his instincts had been this blunt, his closest uncle had died in horrible a car accident. What does destiny have in store for me tonight...
* * *
Meanwhile, in Washington, D.C...
"☺☺☺☺." Agent John Bell (callsign ARROWHEAD) had just sat down at his desk after many hours of intense interrogation, and begging for government authorization to move. Very shortly after the beginning of the interrogation, Arturo had decided not to talk. After several heavy poundings to the face, he changed his mind. That wasn't the end of it, though.
"Everything he's saying? Pure ☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺," Bell had remarked. He couldn't explain how he knew, but he did. Everyone believed him, too. After all, in his nearly 20 years of SPO service, this 45-year-old war vet had never been (successfully) lied to.
"That's your... your power, Jack!" Bell's father had been ecstatic when he had learned what his son's ability was. The fact that abilities were a thing which he himself lacked entirely had contributed to his excitement. "You could make one hell of a cop one day, kid... maybe a soldier. Hell, I'd bet the government would kill for a guy like you!" He hadn't been wrong.
Arturo had gotten over the whole lying thing rather quickly, after the agents used a bit more force (taking several more punches and having a gun drawn on him had put him in his place). Espinosa had been much easier to crack. He quickly admitted to hating his line of work, still shivering from the effects of the dart. Soon, he had given up absolutely everything he knew about the Cartel, all in great detail. He had no information on the drug, however. When they were done, he was very clear about how worried he was about his wife. After forwarding his information to the CIA and DEA, they had promised him that she would be just fine.
What information the SPO had gotten from Mendez was very serious. Apparently another, much larger supply of the "☺☺☺☺ed-up green ☺☺☺☺", as Arturo had called it, had been smuggled to some dealers the Cartel had partnered up with in northern Manhattan. The results of some quick animal tests, using what little of it they had, had proved to be highly disturbing. "If we screw up, this substance could mean the end of civilization as we know it," Dr. Durling had said. "Be careful out there."
Bell threw down his umpteenth cup of coffee, further infuriating his stomach. With a sigh, he stood and retrieved his radio. "Are we ready to mobilize?"
"Affirmative, ARROWHEAD." Brown was in the armory, picking out his favorite toys- an XM8 assault rifle, equiped with an ACOG scope and foregrip, as well as a .357 magnum revolver for close-quarters combat.
"Excellent, GUNMAN. You and the men gather on the roof. A chopper should be here soon." He nervously fidgeted with his pocket knife and stared at himself in a mirror. You ready for this? Sure as hell better be... of course you are. "SPO! The best of the best of the best! T.B.- X3!" He grinned nervously and found his way to the armory. He would be deploying alongside numerous other field agents, which was not uncommon whatsoever (despite his CEO status, he was still highly involved in combat operations).
Barry Ryan, Mark Brown, John Bell and many other agents waited on the rooftop, tonight's banter consisting mostly of gun and laws. They saw the helo before they heard it, thanks to special stealth technology first put into practice in the raid that had killed Osama Bin Laden. (The tech wasn't so special anymore.) The added stealth capability would prove to be vital for keeping a low profile, as would be necessary in an area as populated as New York City.
They lifted off shortly, making haste. With the possibility of such a major population center being ground zero for yet another national (and this time, potentially global) disaster, they couldn't waste a second. This mission meant more to Bell than it did to the rest of the agents. He had grown up in this city, and no way in hell would he let some Cartel ☺☺☺☺☺☺☺s tear it to the ground...
Last edited by Invader; 04-01-2012 at 10:28 PM.
Later That Night...
Joe Franks was being more cautious than usual tonight. The itch grew stronger as the night drew on, and he periodically found himself nervously tapping his holster. Just five minutes before, he had seen the silhouette of a large helicoper cross over the moon. With the sight had come a terrible sinking feeling. It's going to happen soon, isn't it?, he thought nervously. But what the hell's it gonna be?
The city streets were dead quiet, save for the usual sirens and traffic of the city center. As far as Franks cared, the near-total lack of pedestrian traffic was a bad omen. He was glad to radio in for his regularly-scheduled report.
"HQ, this is Franks, badge number 0426, over."
"Roger, Franks. I hear everything's been quiet over there. Anything at all to report?" It was a man's voice. He had a thick Bronx accent.
"Whoever told you it was quiet over here was understating it. I ain't seen goddamned nobody for ten minutes- but... I'm gettin' another one of those... vibes, y'know? It's like, I just know somethin'-"
A scream erupted from one of the many dilapidated apartments on the street.
"Aw, hell, what'd I tell 'ya?" Franks related several codes to the man at HQ and requested backup. In just a moment, he was moving. That wasn't no normal scream... that was, like, someone dyin'. Oh, what the hell have I gotten into now?
The SPO team's lead had been vague, but they found the dealer nonetheless. Problem was, he would seem to have decided to sample some of the goods the Cartel was supplying him with, and he had already sold away his considerable supply of slime. There was still time to control this disaster, if this weak little hireling would cooperate...
Bell pinned the drugged-up scumbag to the slimy alley wall, with his team training their rifles on the bastard's forehead. "For the last goddamned time, WHO DID YOU SELL IT TO!?"
The criminal replied weakly, "I d-d-don't know, freakin'... WHOA!" His eyes twitched wildly. "I-it's like I'm EVERYTHING, man, and you're like... like... a freakin' WEREWOLF!" As the fiend began to howl, Bell gave him a knee right where you don't want to take a knee.
"What a waste of time... what the hell are we supposed to-"
The scream sounded very close indeed. More faint were the guttural growling noises, not unlike what Dr. Durling had described from his tests...
"That sounded like it was coming from that apartment right over there. Get moving!"
* * *
Several more screams had come from the apartment building, and had ceased all too quickly. Franks had zeroed in on the building and had his 9mm Beretta drawn. He hesitated before the dilapidated facade. No time to wait for backup... And in he went.
The wall of musty air hit him in the face like a bat, causing his face to contort. A loud thud came from upstairs, and a crash. It's gotta be there, he told himself. He went straight for a staircase and started climbing. With every step he grew more tense, his every instinct screaming, "Run! Run away NOW!". The thought finally occured to him that this crumbling shack of an apartment could be his grave... not a pleasant thought in any way. He tightened his grip on the sidearm and made for the apartment door the sounds were coming from.
"NYPD! Open the door!" No answer. "You have five seconds to open the door, or I'll open it myself!" Five seconds, no reply. He raised his weapon and kicked down the door.
Brown let loose a salvo of 5.56 NATO rounds into the madman's chest. His skin was going green and dry, and he had nearly bitten a police officer's hand off. The squad medic, Faith MacFarlane (callsign HOLIDAY), had just begun administering first aid, though his wounds appeared to have been infected somehow. As the mercenaries searched the apartment, they found a window shattered (it looked as if someone had punched it out and climbed through) and, more importantly, several dirty syringes filled with green muck, all scattered over the floor. It would appear that there were several people here recently, though only one former-human being remained. A few agents had climbed out the window and down the fire escape, to search for survivors or other victims of the drug.
Bell holstered his Glock and turned to the officer, who was growing more sickly by the second. "What's your name, son?"
Last edited by Invader; 04-02-2012 at 09:37 PM.
I'm looking forward to finding out more about this.
First chapter is up. Edited the hell out of it before I posted it. So much typing...
Originally Posted by Vito_Lucente
Sounds interesting, can't wait for the rest of the chapters. xD
Originally Posted by Invader
Currently plucking out errors with grammar and spelling, like a monkey eating lice off of someone's head. That's a nice mental image. Anyway, the next chapter will be up tomorrow. Probably.
Is this RP going to be Semi or Fully lit, I can but I'd really hate to write a long posts like those. xD
If that's an RP term, I'm not familiar with it... context clues, Invader... You will not have to write a chapter fit for a book for every post, if that's what you're saying. It takes too long, shies people off, and it makes getting ninja'd really painful. Short and sweet is best, but longer posts are allowed. Just try not to modify the story too much with any one post. A full set of rules will be posted when the chapters are done.
Originally Posted by L33t B0uncer/R0sie
I will fill my old ways of completely bat☺☺☺☺ chars, nearly dream like stories that fit within the context of the universe but not really.
Keep a eye out.
Invader, you have done something amazing with my world. The SPO is a little more...extreme than what I started with, but I think we can work with it.
Chapter two is now live. I took your advice, Peach, and edited it quite a bit.
I'm curious peach, what was the world before Invader created the RP? xD
well I used it in an RP that I made on The Pact website, though I've had this world in my mind for some years now.
The pact, whats that, another game site or something?
Originally Posted by princesspeach94
Last edited by L33t B0uncer/R0sie; 03-31-2012 at 10:38 PM.
It was a very small RP site. Remember when there was that other forum some people moved to? Well, that one eventually exploded into two. One died very quickly, and the other one (The Pact) lived on for a while despite there being only three of us. The site was based around an RP by the same name (written by knd). The only RPs were The Pact and Peach's SPO (which I had no part in).
Originally Posted by L33t B0uncer/R0sie
What I've done here is put the SPO in what I hope is an interesting scenario that will provide a unique RP experience. The title calls it an "Experimental RP", and it's just that. I've seen RPs in their own, original universe that have little to no back-story, and I've seen RPs that are based on fully-fledged universes (like Bioshock) that go a lot more in-depth. I've tried to make a hybrid of those two by writing a story with the intention of it being used in an RP.
Peach has told be that this version of the SPO is "too extreme", and I've made changes to reflect that. It's really her universe- I'm just trying to bring it to life. If it's terrible, I apologize. It really is the best I can do.
EDIT: If this is dead already, then I'll put off posting the next chapter for a bit... like for eternity, if that's how long this thread will remain dead.
Last edited by Invader; 04-01-2012 at 07:29 PM.
It's not dead, we're waiting until all 4 chapters are up so we can actually RP.
Originally Posted by Invader
The universe is a little like our own. It has crime, sickness, everything the human race is used to except one thing. Civilizations that are very different hides and blends within our own, one that is much more powerful and greater to us in every way(no they are not aliens). What their reasons are I will not deluvge currently, it has it's own story worth telling. People of all special abilities walk the earth, people that can speak to spirits, those with enhanced reflexes, people that are just too lucky for their own good, ect.
The SPO or Special Police Organization, is a company of private detectives, like a guild. They sell their services to private citizens and public organizations. The SPO acts much like a police force as well. They have departments where several detectives work together, also know as a team. A team has four basic positions:
Leader: their job is to make decisions and lead the team through their investigation.
Gunner: This team members job is to provide support by using a talent for firearms as well as investigation.
Tech: their are the CSI of the group that collects, archives, and studies evidence of the investigation. They mainly stay out of the line of fire. They also provide support via The Network; a Internet like structure used only by the SPO as a means of communication, messaging, and storage for all computers connected to The Network.
Special Operations: These are the ones that mainly go undercover and have talents and abilities that are different than the rest of the team. Special Ops can be called to other teams in other departments if their talents are believed to be needed.
Anyone with questions can message me.
Last edited by princesspeach94; 04-14-2012 at 12:52 AM.
Alright. I'll get to work, then. Peach, I honestly had no idea that people were supposed to have special powers in this RP. I'll try to reflect that in chapter three.
Originally Posted by L33t B0uncer/R0sie
Many people are gifted, not all of them. Mind you none know how to fly, become superheros, or any of those kinds of stuff.
Originally Posted by Invader
I wasn't going to do anything like that. The new chapter is up, with abilities implemented. I hope you like it.
Originally Posted by princesspeach94
Last chapter is up. Choose/make your characters whenever. I'll add a rules list to the OP in a moment, and set up an OOC thread as well. From this post on, this thread is for RP-ing only.
Terrance took a sip from his Canteen, watching the large expanses of emptiness that was in front of him.
"Well, this is quite a mess." Eric muttered to himself crossing the threshold. "it has been a while, Ser Bell. What has happened?"
Terrance looked around for somebody alive "Is anyone here?"
"John Doe" raised his camera and snapped a picture of Terrance, with the flash off. He observed the photo on his screen and shrugged. Could be better...
The picture was clear enough for him to recognize the face, but that was nothing new. You do this long enough, and you tend to start seeing familiar faces.
Doe scanned the area with his camera, which was modified with a sort of jury-rigged night vision. Despite that, the brightness on the screen was lowered to reduce his odds of being seen. One of the agents moved their head a bit too close to Doe's location, and he was off. He'd had to break into an apartment to reach his perch on a fire escape, but that was nothing new...
Eric's eye caught what looked like the shine from a camera's lens from outside.
Last edited by princesspeach94; 04-06-2012 at 04:01 PM.
The Air Force Sargent saw sudden movement from his gasmask covered eyes "U.S Air Force, hands up scum..." he pointed his Rifle at the noises general direction, looking down his IR scope.
Doe cautiously stepped from the apartment building and onto the sidewalk, where a small group of bums turned to look at him. "Do you have any spare change?", one of them asked. "I'm trying to get a bus ticket to..." His voice faded off as Doe marched on. As he walked, he went over what photos he'd gotten. Several faces he'd seen in various places... but this time they were together.
As Doe remembered, one of his "colleagues" had managed to get some Russian intelligence through the black market. It was a faded image of some U.S. government file, mentioning the hiring of a private organization. The S-blur-blur. "This organization is rumored to consist of experts from every arm of the U.S. government," a note on the image said. It was in crude Russian- doubtlessly written by whatever spy had gotten his hands on the intel.
Could this be them? All of the people he'd seen were pros, and they were people he'd never expected to see in the same place.
Damn it, John, save it for later. Get out of here. You should be running... And he did. Whatever it was that went through the window, it was loose in the streets now, and Doe's suppressed 9mm probably wouldn't save him.
"Are you going somewhere?" Eric asked, blocking the man's way. "If you run the other way,I will break one of your legs."
Doe drew his M9. "Why don't you do it, you government asswipe? As long as I've got the second amendment, and you're threatening an innocent American's wellbeing, you can't touch me."
Originally Posted by princesspeach94
"Really? I was merely offering a warning and I shall give another, You pull the trigger and I will give back in equal measure." He replied coolly. "Now tell me ser Journalist, what else has your little picture taking machine seen that is our crime scene?"
"Saying 'I'll break your legs' isn't a threat? Understood, Uncle Sergey." Doe handed over his camera. Didn't get anything worth a damn anyway.
"Love what you've done with the first amendment." The bums he'd seen earlier were watching the spectacle with interest.
"Oh, your government has been hunting me for 5 years and they have not caught me." He takes the memory card. "The SPO is grateful for your service to this investigation and will return your memory card in due time. I suggest you avoid our crime scenes in the future." Eric hands the camera back to him.
"And if another one of your crime scenes spontaneously appears before me like this one did, I'll be sure to save you the trouble and break my own neck." Doe forcefully retrieved his camera and made his way back home. "Your government has been hunting me for five years." What a load of bull... holy ☺☺☺☺! Doe rubbed his eyes and holstered his weapon. "The SPO is grateful for..." SPO. That's it! This wasn't a suicide attempt after all... I knew he was spewing bull. That government that's "hunting" you has sure bought you a nice car.
He found his way to a subway station. It was fairly empty. He stared at the tracks, and mulled over the night's events. Didn't get shot; good. Didn't get arrested; good. Didn't lose any crucial evidence... did lose a terabyte memory card; bad. Found one of many missing links; good... In a minute his train arrived, and he intentionally rode it to the wrong station. He would later catch another train going in the opposite direction, and so on. On one of these would be a fellow "concerned citizen", with whom he would discuss what he had learned.
"I was almost looking forward to drawing some blood. I have not in quite some time." He pockets the memory card. "...I wonder what he meant by Uncle Sergey.?..." He shrugged and walked back to the scene. "It has been a year since I have been to this city." He stopped in his tracks as soon as he noticed an FBI car. "perhaps a little sightseeing would not hurt me." Eric wheeled around in the opposite direction. "I would rather not cause any more trouble than I have to."
Last edited by princesspeach94; 04-06-2012 at 06:51 PM.
James Doe stood in the back of the subway, with the bums and drug addicts. John took his place next to him.
"Well... you're still alive." James took a drag on his cigarette. "Show me the pictures."
"Can't. Got confiscated on my way out."
"Goddamned fascists... you didn't give him an earful again, did you?"
"Yeah," John said with a lowered head. "I know, I'm gonna get shot that way. If our government's gone that corrupt, let them. It means we've failed anyway."
"We've already failed, Jack. We're struggling to exist at this point." There was a hint of sadness- no, desparation, to his voice now, and he began to savor the cigarette a bit more.
"James, as long as we're still breathing, there's still hope."
"Is there really, John? People like us- those who want the real truth- we just get in the government's way. Every day the Constitution means less and less..."