Joined: February 23rd, 2005, 4:07 pm
Posts: 1136
Location: Perelandra.
RS Name: REDRANGER
RS Status: Classic
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More adds.
By the way...Anyone who reads this, COMMENT ON OTHER PEOPLE'S THREADS! WE DID NOT FIGHT FOR THIS FORUM ONLY TO HAVE IT FALL INTO INACTIVITY!
Plox. :/
Anyway, Chapter Four onwards have only been revised by myself, so don't be surprised if you find some glaring error or something. Also, please point out any glaring error, so that I can fix it so it is no longer glaring, nor an error. Thank you. :]
Chapter Four wrote: “You’re sure this is the place?” Officer Nickelson whispered to the subordinate official, doubtfully peering at the building a few hundred yards in front of him.
Nickelson’s orders from Chief Officer Smith had been to find Zach Telmar no matter what the cost. ZT, as they usually referred to him as, was a professional hit man. He had been evading them for years, making hit after hit; disappearing each time without a trace. He had driven Smith nearly to the point of insanity, and now practically all the chief lived for was to get ZT behind bars. Unfortunately, even with the entire Pennsylvania state police force behind him, he had made very little progress. Until recently. Two days ago, they had gotten a tip from the owner of a motel located near the most recent ZT killing. Apparently, his employee had found it in his good will to inform him about a particularly suspicious-looking character who had recently stayed overnight.
He acted very strangely. He carried a large black duffel bag and the employee said he could have sworn he had seen a gun barrel poking out of it at one point. The man signed in, demanded that he was not to be disturbed, and then holed himself up in his room for his entire stay. He did not emerge until the next morning at a very early hour. Before he left he offered a large amount of money to the employee in an effort to get him to erase all record of the man being there. Supposedly, the employee denied this money, and the man had left angrily. Of course, being the good person he was, the employee immediately called up his boss and reported all that had happened. The employer had wisely called the police, who were all over it in a matter of minutes.
The entire following day, Nickelson’s team of investigators had scoured the motel with a fine-toothed comb. After three painstaking hours, they came up with the most valuable piece of evidence they had discovered yet in their search for Zach Telmar: remnants of two cell phones, found in the dumpster directly below the window of the man’s room. One was hopelessly destroyed; they were, however, able to extract a string of data from the hardware of the second. The data contained a single phone number. When his investigators informed him of who it belonged to, Nickelson released a miserable groan. Sam Jones. The most powerful, wealthy, and corrupt man in the entire United States. Of all the people ZT could have been in cohorts with, it had to be Sam Jones. Of course, Nickelson had no choice but to take immediate action.
And so there he was, lying hidden in the dirt alongside a subordinate officer late at night, looking through binoculars at Sam Jones colossal mansion.
“Yes sir, we’re positive,” replied the officer.
“Ok then,” he said with a resigned sigh. “Send in the S.W.A.T.”
The officer relayed the orders through his radio. All around the mansion, 110 specially trained combat soldiers quietly burst into action. Their orders were to detain the target (which in this case was Sam Jones) through any means necessary, as quickly and stealthily as possible. The S.W.A.T. spread out into a large circle, encompassing the mansion. And then, bit by bit, the circle began to contract. Slowly, ever so slowly, the team began to close in on the unsuspecting inhabitants of the residence.
——————————
The inhabitants were, in fact, quite aware of the S.W.A.T. team’s presence, despite the effort the police had put into concealing their operations. 10 people sat in front of monitors in one of the many rooms in Jones’ mansion, watching the S.W.A.T. team’s movements through night-vision equipped security cameras that were cleverly hidden behind, above, and within assorted underbrush and foliage. The very moment the police had stepped onto Jones’ property, the entire house was aware of their presence. The second the police had been sighted, a silent alarm was set off. Immediately, all of Jones’ bodyguards and hired guns sprang into action, heading directly for their assigned posts, whether it was at a window, outside on the lawn (carefully camouflaged), behind one of the two Gatling guns that were mounted in well-hidden and strategic locations, or in some other tactical position. In approximately 1 minute and 38 seconds, every man in the building had his weapon trained on the forest line that surrounded Jones’ mansion. And then, they waited.
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Colonel Dave Spacket, group leader of Squad Omega, advanced at a slow pace through the forest, clutching his M4 tightly. He shook his head irritably.
'Stupid night vision,' he thought. The green hue that bathed his vision was getting on his nerves. In all his years of service, he had never gotten used to it. Taking his left hand away from his gun for a moment, he flipped up his visor.
'Much better,' he thought. Even though it took a while for his eyes to focus, it was well worth it. He could once again see normally. As he pressed forward through the underbrush, something was nagging the back of his mind. Something was wrong. But what? He glanced around, but nothing seemed out of the order. On both his sides were his squad members advancing as he was. But something still seemed strange. He tensed up, half-expecting something terrible to happen. But nothing did. He and his squad members, as well as all the other S.W.A.T. squads, continued to press through the forest. And suddenly it hit him. Silence. There was absolutely no sound whatsoever aside from the muted shuffle of 110 pairs of legs slowly moving forward. Surely, with a mansion as big as Jones’, there would be constant hustle and bustle, what with so much needing to be done all the time…
Before he had any more time to think about this, they were through. In nearly perfect synchronization, 110 soldiers burst forth from the tree line all at once. Instantly, Spacket noticed it. He was sure, he thought, that the other 109 soldiers noticed it as well. Even a complete idiot would not fail to notice the moonlight glinting off of innumerable barrels, all of which were poking out of every possible window and alcove on the entire mansion.
“Get down!” he managed to scream, before taking a bullet in the head.
“Return fire!” an officer bellowed.
109 standard issue M4 semi-automatic rifles rose simultaneously and began to pummel all sides of the building with an unrelenting spray of bullets.
Even as bullets showered down around them, they steadily advanced. And, little by little, they gained ground.
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“Sir, we’d better get you out of here,” said Sam Jones’ personal bodyguard. Sam nodded sadly.
“Yes, of course...I’m just so reluctant to leave behind my beautiful submarine…”
“It’s for your own good, sir.”
Sam seemed to snap out of a trance. “Yes, yes, of course,” he mumbled. He then managed a grin. “Well let’s get going then, shall we?”
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The police were a mere 10 meters away from the building when the order came.
“Charge!” Eighty-four police officers rushed towards the building. Windows shattered and doors splintered as they forced their way inside. In five minutes, eighty-two policemen stood inside a massive lobby. Scattered throughout the room were about fifteen gunmen. After a quick skirmish, bullets and marred the walls and smoke clouded the air. Seventy-six S.W.A.T. men advanced into the next area. Each room was the same; there were always a few enemies lying in wait, all with one goal in mind: to stall the invasion for as long as possible.
Nickelson stood just on the edge of the forest, a spectator to all that was happening. He was reasonably disappointed now; most of the fight had moved inside. His radio suddenly spoke up. “Ah, Officer Nickelson?” a tentative voice asked. Nickelson brought he radio to his mouth and answered.
“I’m here; what do you got for me?”
“Ah, well quite frankly sir, it would probably be better if you came to see it yourself.”
“Well alright then; I’ll be there momentarily. Send an escort, if you please.”
“Of course, sir.”
Time dragged on, and finally five policemen emerged from the building and headed for Nickelson. He met them halfway.
“Alright, then. Let’s see what they’re getting all worked up about, shall we?” Three of the five marksmen knelt and trained their barrels on the upper story windows, making sure that no gunman would try taking a shot at their commander. As Nickelson was escorted through the mansion, he could hear distant gunfire from upstairs.
“It seems we’ve taken the first floor, then, have we?” he asked one of the policemen.
“For the most part, sir. There are still a few rooms that haven’t been checked yet. It’s slow going, but Mr. Jones has only one way to go: down. Don’t worry, sir. We’ll get him.” Nickelson nodded, encouraged by this information.
Finally, they arrived at their destination. It was a large room that lay behind what used to be a thick metal door. A few pounds of strategically placed explosives had made short work of the entryway, though. The room was incredibly vast. It seemed almost larger than the building itself. It was rather obvious that the size of the room, however, was not what the policeman had called him about. Instead, it was what lied, or floated, rather, at the center of the room.
“A submarine,” Nickelson gasped.
“Yes, sir,” said an approaching policeman. “And it seems there used to be two, by the size of the pool.
“Unless,” the policeman added with a grin, indicating the room they were in, “Mr. Jones just likes things to be a bit roomy.”
The two were given no more time to contemplate things, because just as the policeman finished his sentence, a strange sound reached their ears.
“Is that…Oh nooo,” Nickelson moaned. “Tell me you’re kidding.” His radio started squawking.
“Sir, please come to the front of the building immediately!”
“Sir, Officer Nickelson, come outside ASAP!”
“What the heck…Sir, the roof appears to...it appears to be opening, sir!”
Nickelson was outside in an instant. Sure enough, the roof of the mansion had opened lengthwise, and was now slowly coming further apart. The more it opened, the louder the sound became.
“Sir, that sounds like a – ”
Nickelson sighed, interrupting him. “A helicopter. Yeah, I know.” He turned and pointed to the nearest policeman. “You! Get me a Stinger.”
The man glanced at him as if he were crazy, but complied. After a few moments Nickelson was kneeling with a rocket launcher resting on his shoulder. By this time, the roof seemed to have finished opening, and the sound had grown to be quite loud. Nickelson flipped open the sight and pressed his eye up against it. He would capture Sam Jones, dead or alive. As he had expected, up from the roof ascended a helicopter. It rose steadily, and then spun to face the opposite direction.
'That’s right…' Nickelson thought. 'Show me your weak and vulnerable rear…'
Right as the helicopter began to lean forward and begin its escape, Nickelson pulled the trigger. The rocket sped straight and true towards its target. Nickelson smirked with confidence as it homed in with pin-point precision. But then, mere seconds before it was going to hit, flares began to pour out of some unseen hatch in the back of the helicopter.
“No!” he screamed in anger, as the rocket diverted its course to home in on this new heat source. It exploded a few meters off target, rocking the helicopter momentarily. It quickly regained control, however, and started off towards the horizon.
“Reload!” Nickelson ordered desperately, but he knew it was too late. The helicopter was much too far away now to hit. Standing, he let the launcher fall from his grasp. He rubbed his temples and groaned.
The chief wasn’t going to be happy.
——————————
Sam sat grumpily in his plush leather seat as he flew over the Atlantic Ocean.
“Good-for-nothing Zachy,” he thought venomously. “Always getting me into trouble with the authorities. Tch, tch…He should be ashamed of himself.”
Sam suddenly had a burst of inspiration. Pressing a button on the armrest of his seat, Zach spoke to the co-pilot.
“Good man, would you be so kind so as to connect me to Mister Zach Telmar’s watersuit? Thank you.” He clicked the intercom off and settled back into his seat. After a few minutes, a voice came through the speakers.
“You’re connected, sir. Whenever you’re ready.”
Sam took time to stew a while longer, and then picked up a phone that sat in front of him and put it to his ear. Chapter Five wrote: Zach gave the steel door a good rap. Nothing. No echo, no vibration…nothing. The door was pretty darn thick. Now Zach was presented with a dilemma. The first thing Zach had decided to do once he had exited the submarine was to check out the igloo-like structure nearby. Unfortunately, the entrance just so happened to be a massive reinforced steel door, with no visible weaknesses. Equally as unfortunate, he had no weapon in his ***** that could take out such a formidable barrier, considering he had left all forms of explosives back at his headquarters. He examined the bolts that held the door in place; they were just as sturdy as the door itself. After several more minutes of examination, Zach came to the conclusion that nothing short of an atomic explosion could do so much as dent the heavily fortified entrance in front of him.
He took a step forward to take a better look at a specific area of the door when all of the sudden his foot caught on a rock protruding from the ocean floor. His momentum threw him forward, and he fell slowly through the water, heading for the door. Zach thrust his hands forward in an effort to protect himself. He felt his hands hit the heavy metal, and was surprised to feel it open under his weight. He continued to plummet until he hit the sandy bottom with a light thud. The door had been unlocked the entire time! Feeling rather humiliated, Zach stood and brushed off his suit. Gathering himself, he glanced around. He seemed to be in a short hallway, with yet another steel door at the end of it. The second door had a small light mounted on the center of it which shone red. The general set-up of the area seemed vaguely familiar to Zach. Suddenly it struck him.
'Of course…a flood room!' he thought to himself. 'The inside of this structure seems to have air inside of it. A flood room makes that plausible!'
On the wall next to him was a large red button. There were no markings to signify what it did. Taking a chance, Zach pressed it. The door behind him slammed shut, and immediately he heard a familiar hiss. The water level inside the chamber began to rapidly decrease, being replaced with what Zach assumed was fresh air. Finally, there was not so much as a drop of liquid on the floor. The steady red light on the second door flickered, and then changed to a bright green. Zach hoped he was right in assuming that this meant it was OK to proceed. He tentatively pushed at the door, which readily swung open to reveal what Zach had seen previously from the outside. It was a small field encased in glass, with a quaint picnic table and a lunch set for two. At the very center of this was a massive tree, with a wooden door embedded at the bottom of its trunk, which was beginning to open. Zach almost expected the Keebler elves to pop out and offer him a batch of their cookies; after what he had already seen, he would hardly have been surprised. But instead of short little pointy-eared bakers, a squirrel about his size emerged from the door. Wearing an astronaut suit.
Zach felt cold water douse his face. “Wha? What happened!?” he shouted to no one in particular. His eyes focused, and standing over him he could see the astronaut squirrel. He suddenly realized he was missing something. “My helmet!” he cried. The squirrel made a high-pitched chittering sound which Zach guessed was a laugh.
“Needn’t worry about that, pardner,” it said in a particularly feminine-sounding voice. “The air here is just as fresh as it is on the surface. And it’s a good thing, too,” it, or rather she, added, “cuz if it weren’t I’d be dead as a doornail!” She gave another chittering laugh. “Anywho, you are mighty strange, aren’t you? I walk outta my house and there you are, staring at me as if I had two heads or somethin’. Then you just konked out then n’ there. You are mighty strange, I’d say. Anywho, I got a nice meal set out…why don’cha join me? You like PB&J?”
Zach nodded, still in shock.
“Well good!” She led him over to the picnic table and they both sat down. Zach took a bite and finally seemed to snap out of his trance. The squirrel noticed. “ ‘Ey, bout time you came around! Now how ‘bout we have some good old conversation, shall we?”
Zach forced a smile and nodded.
“Well good! Here, I’ll start. My name’s Sandy. I live down here in my cozy tree and spend most of my time hanging out with my friends and practicing karate. Ok, I went; now it’s your turn.”
Zach decided it was time to assert himself. “I’m Zach Telmar. I kill people,” he said in a cold voice.
“Well good! So what are you doing all the way out here in Bikini Bottom?”
“Come again?”
“Bikini Bottom…That’s the name of this here town.”
“You have a town?”
She gave him a strange look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Ah, no. I’m here to…I’m here to visit an old friend,” he lied.
“Well good! Who’s your friend?”
“Ah…A guy named SpongeBob Squarepants.”
Sandy’s face lit up. “Well I know him! He’s a good friend of mine!”
“Really?” Zach asked, thinking of a way to take advantage of this. “Do you mind telling me where he lives?”
A doubtful look crossed Sandy’s face. “But I thought you said you were old friends?”
“I…what I meant was…ah, we are! It’s just been so long since I’ve visited that I forget where everything is!”
Just then, Zach heard a faint noise coming from behind him. He turned curiously, and saw where it was coming from. The sound was emanating from the helmet of his suit. The radio! Zach ran over and picked up the helmet. A headset with a microphone was attached to the inside of it; Zach removed this and put it on his head. The voice became clear.
“ZACHARY B. TELMAR! WHAT THE HECK HAVE YOU GOTTEN ME INTO!?” the voice screamed at him in a rage.
“Sam?” Zach answered questioningly. “Sam, is that you?”
“WHO THE HECK ELSE WOULD BE CALLING YOU WHILE YOU’RE 7,000 FEET UNDER THE OCEAN!?!?”
Zach paused. “Good point,” he admitted. “Anyway, what is it that has you so riled? And could you hurry? I’m a bit…” he glanced over at Sandy, who was still sitting at the picnic table. She was munching on her sandwich, and at the same time watching him curiously. “…busy,” he finished.
“I’ll tell you what has me riled! What has me riled is that because of you’re stupid little undersea adventure, I am now in a helicopter above the Atlantic Ocean, escaping from my destroyed mansion!” The tirade was momentarily disrupted as Sam took a breath. Soon, however, it resumed. “And do you know WHY my mansion was destroyed!? Do you!? Just guess. Go on, guess. No, nevermind. Don’t guess. I’ll TELL you WHY! It’s because the entire SWAT team in all of Pennsylvania somehow figured out that I was helping you, and went absolutely wacko! So now my mansion is in ruins, the cops are all over the place looking for both of us, and…and…and now I have to go to my other mansion in Great Britain!”
“Wait, what’s so bad about that last part? Britain is pretty much the coolest place on earth.”
This quieted Sam for a moment. “Well, O.K., point taken. I was just running out of things to accuse you of. Anyway, mind letting me continue ranting?”
“Oh, no, please go right ahead.”
“Right, then. Thank you. No, you know what, DON’T thank you! Why should I be thanking you!? Do you know WHY this has all happened!? Do you!? ANSWER ME!”
And then Zach realized where this was leading. He glanced nervously over at Sandy, who had put down her sandwich and seemed to be listening intently. “Ah, I don’t know if that’s such a good–”
“Of COURSE it’s a good idea! Let me tell you why this has all happened. This has all happened because YOU got a call from some stupid client, asking you to kill some stupid fictitious SPONGE thing 7,000 feet under the sea!”
“Uh, Sam…Sam, shut up…”
“And you know what the worst part is!? You come to me and take my submarine! My beloved submarine! To and probably eventually destroy in your stupid little adventure! You have absolutely no regard for other people’s things, you know that!?”
“Sam, shut up!”
“I mean, first you take my submarine, and then you get my mansion destroyed, not to mention thousands of cops looking for me, not to MENTION, soon you’ll be depriving that SPONGEBOB guy of his freaking LIFE! Now seriously, has it ever occurred to you that he might have WANTED his life!? NO regard for others, I say. NO REGARD!”
“SAAAAAM!” Zach’s outburst seemed to quiet Sam for a moment. Zach took advantage of this silence. “Sam…” he ground out. “I’m going to have to call you back.”
“Hey, now wait just a min–"
Zach terminated the connection, cutting Sam off mid-sentence. He turned to see Sandy crouched in a fighting stance. So you’ve come to kill my friend, eh?” she asked, her voice dripping with malice. “Well, I can’t allow that.” She sprang forward, her claws extending.
If I get slashed by those, I’m sunk! Zach thought. He dove out of the way, avoiding Sandy’s attack by mere inches. He recovered with a roll, in the same motion snatching one of his pistols from its holster. He dropped to one knee and pointed his weapon steadily at his opponent.
“Stop right there,” he commanded. Unfortunately, Sandy was in no mood to comply with Zach’s demands. She sprang forward and with an agile maneuver neatly swatted the pistol from Zach’s hand. Stunned, he groped for his second gun, but to no avail. He looked up to see Sandy holding his belt, his pistol and knife still attached. On the ground behind her lied his harpoon gun, which had somehow found its way from his back.
'Incredible,' he thought. 'She not only managed to take away one of my weapons, but to completely disarm me!'
He rose and put up his fists. “Bring it on,” he challenged.
She brought it. Before Zach knew what was happening, he was landing hard on his back, Sandy midair above him and descending fast. His foot met Sandy’s stomach, making her tumble back, stunned. She recovered amazingly quickly, and again they fought.
'If I could just get to my weapons,' Zach thought, directing a longing glance at the pile of guns a few yards away. Unfortunately, Sandy always managed to keep him a fair distance away from it, preventing him from gaining the upper hand. He made a strike at Sandy, only to have it blocked. Sandy retaliated with a strong uppercut. It clouted Zach directly in the jaw, sending him reeling. He stumbled and recovered, but not before his opponent reached a position where she could land yet another blow. This one hit him in his gut, sending a wave of nausea washing over him. He took a few unsteady steps backwards before Sandy head butted him in the chest. The bash was powerful enough to take him off his feet momentarily. When he landed, something hard painfully jutted into his back. He weakly pulled it out from underneath him to see what it was. One of his guns! It must have been the one Sandy knocked to the side in the beginning. An idea began to form in Zach’s mind. He slowly got to his feet, hiding the weapon from Sandy’s sight. He pretended to be completely exhausted, lurching unsteadily away from his adversary. She smiled, confident that she had him beat.
'No hurry,' she thought, nonchalantly closing in for the final blow. She was about five feet away when Zach struck. From behind him he pulled the cocked pistol. In a split second, he had it raised up and pointed directly at Sandy. There was no hesitation this time. No warnings, no threats, no chance of survival. One shot and it was over.
Zach walked over to the rest of his weapons, placing them back in their respective positions. He also retrieved his helmet and placed it back on his head. Then the adrenaline began to wear off, and every joint began ached. There was a dull pain in his back where he had landed on his gun, and his jaw hurt terribly. He was not in a good mood. The sound of squeaking metal suddenly resounded in the dome. Zach turned to see that someone else had entered through the floodroom. It appeared to be a large starfish with a purple and green swimsuit on. A large fishbowl covered its head, filled with water. Zach figured it was the only way it avoided suffocating in the dome, considering it was full of air. Zach had never seen an indignant starfish, but what he saw before him seemed close enough.
“What have you done to Sandy!?” it cried in a rather garbled voice.
Instead of answering, Zach retrieved one of his pistols from its holster.
“Hey, what are you – bluarrghh!!!” The creature’s exclamation was cut short as the butt of Zach’s pistol collided with the fishbowl, hopelessly shattering it. The starfish fell to the ground, stunned and gasping for breath.
With no more than a second glance, Zach stepped over him and exited the air dome. Soon, he stood at the center of the road he had found earlier. He looked both ways, debating which way he should go. He was so absorbed in making his decision that at first he didn’t hear the faint whirr of a propeller. By the time he noticed it, the boat-car was nearly upon him. He barely had time to jump out of the way before it careened past him at an insane speed. It swerved in a criss-cross pattern down the road until it eventually faded from sight. There was one thing that had caught Zach’s attention, aside from the fact that he had nearly been killed. In that split-second where time seems to slow, he had very distinctly seen at the wheel of the vehicle a bright yellow sponge.
“Well I guess that decides it then,” he murmured to himself, and began walking.
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just passing through.
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