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0 rows returned
Apr 9, 2007

Reading all of these has been entertaining, so why not? I'm in.


0 rows returned
Apr 9, 2007

I had a dream like this once.

Just a Blur, 898 words.

The agent left the package at a table in a crowded restaurant for me to pick up. I've never seen what the agent looks like, his body vague, blurred like an artist was in the process of airbrushing him from existence. My relationship with the agent begins, and ends, with his deliveries of the packages. Before the waitstaff can clean the table and snatch the package, I swoop in and distract them while I palm the package, then I speed to the bathroom.

The package is a hard plastic palm-sized case, and I grasp opposite corners and give it a slight twist which causes the case to first creak and then crack before shattering and sending plastic splinters flying into the air. Inside the package is a small, folded red paper, with a name and an occupation printed in the center. I toss the case into the trash and flush the paper down the toilet, then leave the restaurant.

I have to be careful traveling on the streets, following myself to make sure that what will happen, doesn't happen. I see myself getting caught at a Watchers' checkpoint, make sure I don't travel down that alley, avoid the rush of the crowd on main street where it's most dangerous. I have to stick to walking along the border of the city, where the road seems to pulsate and stretch out to infinity. Nearing my target's location, I stop at a nearby coffee shop while I watch myself enter the building and then not come out after the usual twenty minutes. The entire time I'm there, I notice that somebody, a blur wearing a familiar uniform, is watching me from a booth near the back of the coffee shop.

I enter the building and make my way to the floor my target is on, and after listening to the door for a minute, pull out the needlegun and kick that motherfucker in. The target isn't in the first room so I creep around the suite, until I find the only door that's closed in the entire place, where I suddenly have a flash of opening the door and seeing the target standing over my body. gently caress that, so I guess where he is and fire my needlegun into the door, sending sawdust flying everywhere as the gun pulps the door and, from what I can see, the target.

The door collapses in on itself and I walk in, carefully stepping over my own body, and stand over the target. I pull a little device out of my pocket and stick it on his forehead, pulling the restraints over his head and tightening them, and push a button on it to start the procedure. A little yellow light blinks on the device. I wait for the procedure to finish while sitting against the wall beneath the window, avoiding the slowly spreading pool of blood. It's completely silent in the building.

The yellow light flips to green and when I reach over to the target's head a white spotlight floods the room, and then I notice the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The Watchers found me. On an impulse I grab the target's body and hold him against the window, which immediately explodes from all the gunfire from the street. A sharp pain erupts from my right shoulder and I push the body forward, out of the window, while I fall backward to the floor. I have just about enough time to scramble out of sight when I see one of the Watchers turn the corner, and jam the gun into his chest, holding the trigger. His chest caves in and his back explodes and I kick him out of my way.

I find the backdoor and take off into the city's numerous dark back alleys.


“This is Control, what's the problem?”

“I got ambushed by the Watchers. What the gently caress happened?”

“Good question, did you trip over them along the way?”


“Did you recover the device?”

“No, I threw it out the window along with the target. I kinda had more important things on my mind.”

“That's no good, the device is vital to all of our operations in the city.”

“Well too loving bad.”


I blindly made my way to the edge of the city, relying purely on luck to avoid the checkpoints. As I'm crossing an abandoned highway, just in sight of infinity, I see a spotlight come on in the distance. There's a low rumbling all around as the light races toward me, and then it's joined by two other spotlights before it washes over me. I have just enough time to reach for the needlegun in my pocket before I'm hit from all directions, all at once. My body explodes and I can see the needlegun flying through the air before falling over.

When I come back to consciousness, the Watchers, wearing their stupid uniforms, are standing above me. It's then that I realize that their faces aren't just out of focus and blurred, like somebody erased it out of a picture. No, it's not that at all. They have no faces, no features, just a blur. Just a hint of the underlying menace. Then one of them pulls a curious little device out of its pocket and places it on my forehead.

0 rows returned
Apr 9, 2007

Oxxidation posted:

Just a Blur (0 rows returned)

Oh man what a totally badass secret agent, he kicks down doors and shoots the bad guys and doesn’t even care. This read like a video game cutscene put to prose, which means it fails as a story right out of the gate, but on top of that your pacing was muddled and the dialogue was quite bad. There was no need for all those comma splices. What did periods ever do to you?

Bad Seafood posted:

0 Rows Returned - Just a Blur

Have you ever just turned on the television and caught a single scene from some B movie action shlock right before they cut to commercials. That's how this whole thing reads.

Thanks for the critiques. They're spot on.

I'll be honest, I tried to be vague and ended up idiotic. I'm sure it was because I padded it out and tossed in too much unnecessary and/or redundant poo poo because I'm not a skilled enough writer to convey the images in my head (which were probably too big anyway) in any amount of words without being boring, or transition between them. So I got stuck under a pile of Things Happen! good enough. because everything was stitched together.

0 rows returned
Apr 9, 2007


Why no rope inspectors?

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