 New link in the top of page "IRC Chat". |
| Register | Login | |||||
 |
Main
| Memberlist
| Active users
| Calendar
| Last Posts
| IRC Chat
| Online users Ranks | FAQ | XPW | Stats | Color Chart | Photo album |
|
| | ||
New link in the top of page "IRC Chat". |
| Register | Login | |||||
|
Main
| Memberlist
| Active users
| Calendar
| Last Posts
| IRC Chat
| Online users Ranks | FAQ | XPW | Stats | Color Chart | Photo album |
|
| | ||
| 0 users currently in Story Realm. |
| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - Howard |
 |  |  |
| Next newer thread | Next older thread |
| User | Post | ||
Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie!          Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 724 days Last activity: 724 days |
| ||
| Tangled in the sheets fast asleep in his bed, wrangled in the covers at three in the morning. A distant ringing and buzzing merged into the caverns of his deep dream state. A heavy arm lurched outward, knocking over an half-full glass of water, and searched for the origin of the buzzing and ringing. He grasped onto the infernal contraption, rejecting all instinct to launch it across the room, and placed it near his ear.
"Hello?" his groggy voice filling the speaker on the other end, "okay. Now? Fine." His hand dropped, phone in hand, and he lay motionless for several minutes. An exasperated sigh left his lips as he struggled with the sheets and cover, rotating and sitting up in the darkness of his room. The ceiling fan slowly hummed above. He glanced at the digital clock across the room. 3:43 AM. Dropping a bare foot onto the water puddle near the fallen glass, he slowly stood up and stumbled across the warm hardwood floor to the bathroom. The buzzing and ringing started up again, muffled from under his tossed covers. He emerged from his bathroom, fully dressed in a pressed black suit, and searched the bed for his cell phone. Missed call. A furry body rubbed up against his leg, leaving small tufts of grey and white fur on his pants. He huffed, flicked off the tufts, and walked towards the garage. Moments later, he stood in an office park in the middle of Santa Monica's gaming district, in a stairwell facing the front parking lot, next to a slow trickle of crimson, below a dangling hand. Its pale skin tinged with the slow drizzle of blood. He sipped on his coffee, while forensic pathologists moved up and down the stairwells. A few officers arrived holding a large, black tarp and draped it across the fishbowl windows of the stairwell. A small group of people huddled outside in the parking lot, smoke rising from their cigarettes. "Motive?" his still-groggy voice echoed through the quiet murmur in the stairwell. A pathologist peered from over a railing up above, adjusting her glasses with a blood-stained, gloved hand. "Blow to the face with a blunt object," she held over a Game Cube controller, "and asphyxiation with an electrical device peripheral." She tossed the controller down to him. "Typical," he finish his coffee and handed the empty cup to an officer, "I'll be in the basement. Don't let anyone leave the parking lot." In the basement, the central operations for the OnSight's QA department, a sparse gathering of graveyard testers gathered in the breakroom. The smallest shift of the 24-hour rotation of testers, they completely filled the breakroom without much discomfort. A few more testers filtered in, after completing their smoking break in the parking lot. He stood at the doorway, perusing over the faces of each tester, watching their movements. "You," he pointed to a tall man, dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, leaning against a soda machine in the corner, "come with me. The rest of you, remain here until I or another officer get you." They sat in the empty cubicle bay of the project managers, in a desolate cubicle of a former producer. He ruffled his hair and stared into the eyes of the tester. "Name, title, and where were you tonight?" "Isiah, QA Lead, and I was with my crew in there," he pointed to a semi-dark room just opposite the cubicle walls. "Did you know the deceased?" "Yeah, but not personally. I mean, he's our boss, but we never really saw him. We just heard of him. I didn't even know he was here at night." He scribbled a few notes into his notebook, and drew a small, scraggly happy face next to his notes, "alright, you can go." "That's it? Can I go back to my team, or..." "The breakroom. Send me anyone of your choosing." And that was it. The morning ran on like that, until everyone in the building had been interviewed. The security guard confessed that he had been away from his desk at the time of the murder, making his rounds through the second floor. When asked if he had noticed anything unusual, he replied that not much could be unusual at a gaming company. "The testers take liberty to walk through the entire building. Wherever they have access, they can go. There's nothing more on the other floors other than small kitchens and gaming tables and arcades near the elevators." "Do you often find any testers that keep to themselves?" The guard shifted in his chair at the front desk, "Oh yeah. Used to scare me sometimes. I'd find a tester sitting in the darkness of the executive atrium--not sleeping, but 'meditating'." "Ah," he scribbled a bit in his pad and walked through the glass doors and out to the front of the building. The buzzing and ringing started up again. "What? No, still here. Again?" he glanced at his watch, "it's only seven AM, don't these people sleep?" And, he was off, walking drowsily through the crisp air handing off the Game Cube controller to a passing coroner, "document this for evidence. You'll find my prints on it, obviously," he continued walking and yelled back, "arrest me when you do!" Standing in the shade of the towering office building in the quiet residential neighborhood on the edge of Los Angeles, nestled in between the junction of two major freeways, he stood staring up at the giant sign proclaiming the largest company's name to passing freeway inhabitants--ShoveThat Mobile. A small swarm of police personnel walked in and out of the lobby, in and out of the main elevator, up and down from the fifth floor offices. The early-bird members of the day crew had discovered him, hanging from the bulkhead in the ceiling of his office, strangled by a Nokia phone charger. "I'm surprised it could hold his weight," he smirked while scribbling another sad face in his notebook. "It's easier when he's already dead, Inspector," the stout pathologist spoke as she stood on the victim's death inspecting the tension on the cable, "it's quite taut over the bulkhead, but then Nokia is notorious for indestructable phones and accessories." The inspector removed his cell phone from his holster, dialing up a few number and holding it fast to his ear while staring out at the traffic below, "Carter? Can you meet me at...what? Another one? It's only 9:30. Fine, meet me there." He grabbed a passing police officer, "I want to question everyone that was here in this office this morning, and the night security guard. I expect a full report on my desk when you're finished." It was a relatively short drive that Monday morning heading down the main road through Culver City to the "I don't need them," he grabbed at the man's clipboard, "what's happened here, Carter? Someone strangled with a gaming accessory? Someone hung themselves with a phone charger?" "Not quite," Carter started, shifting his police identification to a more prominent location on his shoulder, "it appears to be a mild electrocution." Howard stopped walking, "Well, if it's minor then how is it a homicide?" "You'll see," he motioned for the detective to enter the building, "he was discovered by the morning security guard; thought the man was sleeping." They walked through a set of large, mohogany wood doors, to a row of cubicles. Another female pathologist walked up to Howard holding a slightly burned Samsung A990 cell phone. "Minor electrocution? From a cell phone battery?" Howard asked, receiving the phone and handing off to Carter to place in an evidence bag. She chuckled, "Yes, in fact, but more of the sense of several cell phone batteries. Something in the lot of two hundred handsets, all wired to each other and to two plates hidden within the victim's seat. The phones were placed in neat rows in an adjacent cubicle, all left on. It appears they were activated by a mass text message." Howard turned to Carter, "Do you perchance know the message, Carter?" Carter scrambled through his notepad, handing it to Howard. "Send key has no function. Awesome," Howard vaguely smiled. "Let me guess, this happened to occur when neither the night or morning guard was present." Carter nodded. "Lovely. Where's their kitchen?" Carter stood near a doorway watching Howard sip on a cup of tea, "Do you think they're all connected?" Howard inhaled deeply, allowing the rich aromas of the tea to permeate his lungs, "Well, let's look at the data. Three o'clock, a security guard finds the body of one of OnSight's VPs in the stairwell. Seven AM, a day crew lead discovers a manager hung in his own office. Nine o'clock AM, another security guard finds a senior producer 'mildly electrocuted' in his cubicle. I'd say their connected. Find me the common link, Carter." "Do you think he or she will strike again?" Carter shifted his weight, ready to leave the building. "It's only been," Howard glanced at the giant scrolling display on the breakroom wall, "eleven hours since the first discovery. I'd say our man or woman is heading to his or her next target, or they're at the Denny's around the corner. Check the Denny's. And the IHOP down the street for anybody looking weary and suspicious." "Like you?" "Yes, like me." Howard gathered his belongings and sent off a police officer to interview the occupants of the building. He sauntered out to his car only to find a cute couple of tabbies joyously mating on top of it. The buzzing and ringing started up again. "Inspector Howard. Geez, it's only 11. Dammit." Carter met him at the Los Angeles International Airport, on the tarmac of runway 26. "Blunt force trauma to the upper torso. Almost like a plane hit him," Carter loomed over the covered body on the closed runway. "I sincerely doubt he was hit by a plane. What's his story?" "Terminal Manager for Centurion Airlines, used to be government." Howard's eyes perked, "How long ago?" "Maybe a year ago, in the same terminal." Howard knelt down over the victim, pulling a wallet from his coat pocket and his airport identification from his lapel, "Robert Stone. What branch?" "Airline Security Sector. I don't think this one is connected to the other three." "I doubt that." Howard walked to the back gate, noticing no forced entry. "How'd our hitman get out here, and what would he being doing this far down the runway." Carter shrugged. "Find me answers, Carter." Howard sighed deeply, sitting in his car watching planes take off into the low-lying fog. "It's gonna be a long day." Thirteen hours into his day, and already four stiffs under his belt. The day can only get brighter. His phone started up again. "Ugh...what now?" "Another one, twenty miles south in Torrance. Head of security and loss prevention. Found shrink-wrapped on an inventory conveyor belt." Carter relayed. "Oh, he's getting creative. I see." 
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. (Last edited by Zabuza on 11-09-07 09:40 PM) |
|||
Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable  Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
| ||
| Why am I suspecting mass homocide at Disneyland coming up? This is interesting, please continue. | |||
|
Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 724 days Last activity: 724 days |
| ||
| Amid the sprawling morning traffic in beautiful Torrance, Howard pulled into the small parking lot of Skyscraper Records. The store had been closed prematurely and swarmed with police officials and forensic pathologists. He was led to the basement by the store's loss prevention agent--a shapely young woman, early to mid 20s--to the bottom of the conveyor belt. The victim, Michael Yurigama, lay in a prone position clinging to the shrink wrap. From the top side of the conveyor belt, a male pathologist crouched over the victim's head.
"What cha got?" Howard yelled up the conveyor belt. The pathologist lifted Yurigama's torso, "It appears to be some kind of slice to the back of the neck, and then, judging from the position of his arms and hands, I'd say slow asphyxiation from being shrink-wrapped. Victim a-la-mode, complete with price tag and barcode. $0.99 cents." Howard huffed, and walked back up the stairs to the assembled morning crew standing in the middle of the store. He walked up to the loss prevention agent, and pulled her aside. "Who found him?" "Our stock manager there", she pointed to a tall man wearing a baseball cap attempting to hide the long rocker-style type of long-flowing hair, "he came up to tell me as soon as he found the conveyor belt wouldn't budge." "He probably had enemies, but were there any that could possible hold a grudge?" Howard pulled out his notepad as Carter interviewed the other employees. "There was one, possibly, but I doubt he'd be able to take down Mike. I mean, Mike was ex-military." "Ah," Howard exclamed, "who is this person?" She motioned for him to follow her back to the loss prevention office, hidden behind a one-way mirror. Inside, she pulled a folder out from a file cabinet and laid it on the desk. The room was small, with a row of closed circuit televisions and a timelapse video recorder. A row of tapes marked with numbers--one for each day of the month--lined the desk. He picked up the file and opened it. "Cross Dwiers, heh, family joke I suppose," he mumbled to himself. "Yeah, he claimed to have worked for the Airline Security Service before being hired here. Told us he was forced to resign for reasons he couldn't repeat." She sat in the chair and watched the monitors. "Normally, we'd call Mike for situations like this. But, I don't know what to do now." "Resigned, you say? Why would he leave a $40,000 a year career for an $8/hour loss prevention job? Hmm...can I take this?" "Oh, sure. You're welcome." "Yes, right." Howard walked out of the office and handed the file to Carter, "Find me this man, please." Carter nodded while still on the phone, "Sir? There's been another one." Howard grumbled and walked out the door. |
|||
|
Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
| ||
| Ah, so a name has finally been found. Now will he get away with it? | |||
|
Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 724 days Last activity: 724 days |
| ||
| They arrived at a police standoff back at the OnSight building in Santa Monica. SWAT teams stood outside in the parking lot, rifles trained at the windows of the building. The parking lot had been evacuated as well as the other businesses and schools around the building.
"Carter, what's going on?" Howard parked the car next to a SWAT van, zipped on a kevlar vest and walked up to the van. "Well, I found Mr. Dwiers. He's in the building, is an active employee of OnSight, is claiming responsibility for the other murders, and is holding the entire building hostage. Intelligence reveals that he has help, and all three floors are electronically wired to motion-sensored explosives. He's also holding hostages in every single room on every single floor that contains windows." "So that if SWAT shoots out a window, they kill the hostages as well," Howard scratched his five-o'clock shadow chin, "how clever. Almost reads like a novel I read a long time ago." "Sir?" Carter inquired zipping on his kevlar vest. "I had a friend, actually, he's a producer now for some gaming company up north; he used to write a lot of short stories and novels. Best known for being incredibly detailed in his books," Howard paused, squinting his eyes in thought, "Carter? Find me 'Will Not Fix' by Wesley Almundbarre. Oh, and see if you can figure out if our man has read that novel or not." Carter nodded and ran off, cell phone in hand, towards the car. Howard walked up to the lead SWAT officer, "Hello. So, how long's it been?" "Good afternoon, sir. Um, it's been close to two hours. He's already killed a security guard on the third floor, and has made no further contact. We're working on getting a helicopter to come in through the roof." Howard shook his head, "No good, he's probably got the roof wired with explosives as well, and the atriums probably have people guarding them. Oh, and whatever you do, don't shoot the second-floor conference room window, no matter how much your guys might think it would be good to take someone out." The SWAT officer gave him a perplexed look, but said nothing in return. It appeared as though Dwiers had read through the novel, and could possibly had rigged up the entire building in the same manner. But, there was a weak spot, implied and not written. "I'm heading towards the building, try to negotiate something. They're probably not going to shoot outwards; it would involve breaching their fortress," Howard walked towards the building, gun in hand, up to a wall of SWAT personnel. He quickly dialed the main number, and sat waiting for someone to answer the phone. A heavily armored QA tester walked nonchalantly passed the front glass doors to the lobby, and answered the phone. "Yeah? What you want?" "Where's Dwiers? Let me talk to him. I'm Detective Howard, with the Los Angeles Police Department," Howard leaned on the crouched row of SWAT sharpshooters, "I can meet his demands. Ask him if he knows about 'Will Not Fix'." "What the fuck are you talking about, man?" an exasperated sigh came from the tester, "Fine, please hold while I transfer your call." "Heh. They're still operating on a level of diplomacy," he glanced up towards the second floor window above the main doors, "and they're playing ping pong on the second floor. Ah, the joys of wiring an entire building." "We're killing the power to the building!" came a yell from somewhere behind Howard. Howard turned and ran towards the SWAT sargeant, tackling him to the ground, "No! You will not cut the power! Why the fuck do you wanna do that shit?" "Kill the power to their computer systems and magnetic locking doors, dipshit." "No. It's not going to work. They have rigged the redundant systems." "That's impossible, they've only been hold up for two hours." Howard stood up, helping the sargeant to his feet, "You think they didn't plan this over the last month? You think they just managed to wire and take an entire building in a couple of hours? And, have the help of an entire night crew? No. It doesn't work that way," Howard looked around the street, spotting a book store, "Look, send one of your men over to that bookstore. See if you can find a book entitled 'Will Not Fix' by Wesley Almundbarre. Read it." "I don't have the time to read a fucking book, Detective." "Then you obviously don't care for the lives of those being held inside," Howard turned and held the phone back up to his ear. "This is Cross, what do you want?" "You've been a busy man this morning, haven't you?" "Insomnia. Gotta do something. Besides, playing with shrink wrap is fun." Howard moved closer to the glass doors, "Why take a former job, Cross? Why take the building? Fulfilling some sick fantasy." "Maybe," Cross whispered into the phone, "I'd say it's more like playing a game. A lethal game, but still a game. Except, these enemies don't respawn." "What do you want, Cross?" "Too early, call back. I've got a Halo tournament to play," he hung up. Howard stomped his foot on the ground, visually tracing the motion sensor pasted onto the glass door, leading around to a small smattering of C6 placed on the bottom of the doors. Carter walked up, holding a book and bringing a tall man in tow. "Guess who I found doing a signing at Borders in Westwood?" Howard turned around, "Wesley?" he pointed to the building, "Look, it's your masterpiece in progress. And, what, three weeks before the theatrical release that just finished filming over there last year? I told you your mind is a dangerous thing, at least to other people." Wesley shrugged, walking back with Howard and Carter to their car, "So, a fan has managed to recreate my novel in its entirety already? Wow, I figured I'd be the first to do it that day I'd snap." "Yes, but unlike your character, he's been busy murdering former co-workers and bosses all morning." "Oh, I thought about doing that, but I wanted to keep it within the building. Never really thought someone could actually do it, though. The systems aren't wired exactly as I detailed in the book. I wonder how he acquired the C6." Howard pulled out the file he acquired from Skyscraper, "he's former ASS." "Oh, well then, that makes sense. Wait, I might know him, then...um...Cross Dwiers?" Howard was astounded, "How did you know?" "You didn't think I made up the name Cross Dwiers, did you? Dude and I worked together at OnSight. He helped me write the novel." "Great." Howard sighed sitting on his car's trunk. A gunshot rang inside the building, coming from deep within, "They've started the Halo tournament." "Oh," Wesley sighed. (Last edited by Zabuza on 09-06-06 10:00 PM) |
|||
|
Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
| ||
| ... Wesley huh? I see... although I don't really get the significance of a Halo tournament. But yes, do go on. | |||
|
Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 724 days Last activity: 724 days |
| ||
| I'm tying this one in to "Will Not Fix". Same premise as the Paradox Island Series, POV of the same story, but this one happens outside from the POV of the investigating detective. The other one, "Will Not Fix", happens inside from an omnipresent/omnicient POV of the four testers involved in the stand-off. Except, the Halo tournament doesn't happen in "Will Not Fix" for at least a few more chapters. "Howard" picks up on it about seven hours into the whole thing; the police just think it's been two hours when he arrives. And, since the first chapter of "Will Not Fix" is just half-an-hour into that afternoon (on a different story plane, not exactly in line with this one--the "Will Not Fix" in "Howard" is just a novel being redone by copy-cats while the "Will Not Fix" I'm writing is the novel (I don't know if that makes sense)--one occurs in the morning; the other in the afternoon), it implies some sort of time warping...except that there are two versions of "Will Not Fix".
In "Howard", it makes mention to Wesley's story--"Will Not Fix". In relation to "Howard", this fictional story is being carried out, with a few changes, in his real life as a standoff in the real (fictional in the our universe) OnSight company. In relation to our world, "Will Not Fix" is the same story that the Detective Howard character is referring to in "Howard". So, both version, while related, are not the same story. Does that make sense? Just accept it as a convolution of two stories that are similar but different. In "Will Not Fix" (my version, not Wesley's), Cross Dwiers is completely made up. He doesn't exist. He's a combination of myself and a few other people. In "Will Not Fix" (Wesley's, not "mine"), Cross Dwiers is a real person (in the "Howard" world) that he based his Cross Dwiers character on. Wesley is using something that I do in real life: I use friends names for characters, and just capture their personalities. The exception, is the "Howard" story and "Juice", I think, thus far. Wesley is my alter-ego, if it helps. Howard is an alter-ego. Cross is an alter-ego. I don't know. I know how the whole thing works...moving on: "Halo tournament, sir?" Carter asked turning to face Wesley. "Yes," Wesley started thumbing through a copy of his novel, "it's the point in the story when the night crew testers force the day crew testers into a tournament pitting each crew against each other. The difference is that when a day crew tester is killed, he's really killed off by one of the night crew members." "Ah," Carter thought for a moment, "and if a day crew member kills a night crew member?" "They're killed in a more painful, slower manner. Or switched up," Howard interrupted. He was a great fan of most of Wesley's works, but suspected that even Wes had the potential to carry out excellently planned criminal acts without the suspicion of the authorities. "So, what you're saying is that he's started executing his hostages?" Carter turned to face the building as another gunshot rang within. Howard nodded, "Unfortunately, yes. Now, where the fuck is our negotiator. I hope they can read quickly." Howard walked towards the SWAT sargeant, explaining the situation to him and how they couldn't act upon it. He turned to face a nervous Wesley, "They're following your novel out of order--the Halo tournament didn't occur until day two. Do you think Cross is willing to destroy all of day crew?" Wesley leaned up against a SWAT truck, "I don't think he'll stop with day crew. See, Cross doesn't like people in general. I'm sure he'll be done once he's killed off everyone he hates--day and night crews included." Howard's eyes widened, "Excellent. Thanks for not writing that into your book." Wesley straightened up, "It was implied, Jeff." (Last edited by Zabuza on 09-08-06 12:00 PM) |
| Next newer thread | Next older thread |
| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - Howard |
| |
