#1
I was working on some things and ended up starting this story. If anyone wants to see more I'll post it. I wrote it in small segments so I wouldn't bury people under a wall of text.


You know how in all those TV shows and movies they show the hero climbing through empty metal air ducts to infiltrate the enemy compound? The fact is those ducts are lined with so much old insulation you can get asbestosis just by looking at ‘em. Not to mention the nails and screws sticking in from every angle, attached to brackets and joists, or holding up ceiling tiles beneath, all cleverly hidden under fluffy pink fiberglass snow.

I was in the middle of one of these ducts right now, past the middle, climbing down through the fiberglass, bracing my feet against the sides of the metal duct, working down. I felt a hidden screw slice my palm as I slammed my hand against the side to keep myself from falling the last 30 feet down the duct. I bit back curse words and kept moving down.

Another day, more of the same. Only none of them are the same. You’d think these missions would get easier with experience but what happens when you keep grinding a sharpened blade? You wear it away to nothing, that’s what.

I reached the bottom of the duct, looked past my feet through the aluminum grating, raised my head to plead to the heavens, received a load of fiberglass dust in my eyes for my trouble and looked down again. Twenty feet, that’s how far the drop was from the duct, not a jump I really wanted to make to the cold steel catwalk below.

Then I saw the man below, yellow hazmat suit and mask, holding a submachine gun, patrolling the catwalk. It was as good a chance as any. I crossed my arms over my chest and plunged downward.

The guard never knew what hit him, I know from experience that having a man land on you with twenty feet of momentum behind him isn’t a laughing matter, it’s not easy to laugh with broken ribs. A second later my utility knife had ripped through the yellow rubber of the suit and the man’s throat. No chance to scream, he was done.

Sulphur.

Is that what I was smelling in the air? I didn’t like the way the man’s blood had gotten all black and flaky so fast where it’d washed across the yellow hazmat suit either. There was something in the air here, more than just danger, something in the massive metal tanks beneath the catwalk, something that had clung to the thick rubber suit. Good thing I wasn’t planning on having kids anyway.


tl;dr: You're out of luck, this isn't Cliff Notes
Quote by J-Spoon
I did a forward roll into a backflip, caught the les paul and blasted out a face melting version of stairway to intimidate this mentally retarted kid on life support in a wheelchair that was trying to play it through an MG. What a loser.
#2
I kindly request that you take your faggotry elsewhere.
I miss Morbid, the metal forum sucks now
Last edited by rockybo at Jul 31, 2009,
#4
Quote by rockybo
I kindly request that you take your faggotry elsewhere.


you are an angry fellow tonight arn't you

__

to TS -
#5
It's supposed to be corny and kind of a joke on the whole action hero thing. As the story progresses it sort of pokes fun at the genre with gratuitous violence and over the top jokes. I started it as a joke that'd be kind of funny and entertaining for people to read.
Quote by J-Spoon
I did a forward roll into a backflip, caught the les paul and blasted out a face melting version of stairway to intimidate this mentally retarted kid on life support in a wheelchair that was trying to play it through an MG. What a loser.
#8
next part

I pounded across the catwalk, pushing my feet as fast as they would go. Even if all the scans had shown no surveillance equipment in the storage chamber, probably due to the fumes that would render any electronics useless, there was bound to be someone who’d come along and check on my little dead buddy. Besides, I didn’t really want to stay in a giant room that smelled like someone had left a dead cat in a garbage bag for a week in the sun, then decided to blow it up with homemade fireworks.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I reached the end of the catwalk, the door ahead read “AIRLOCK ENTRANCE” if I was right… Yeah, I was right. Peering through the thick glass window in the heavy metal door into the little room beyond I could see there was no handle on the opposite door, a solid sheet of riveted steel. The airlock had to be operated from the other side, and since the guys hanging out here weren’t likely to pop open the door for an American operative packing more heat than a bulk size tub of Icy Hot I had to come up with an alternative plan.

A few minutes later I was back at the door, running down the catwalk in the torn, bloodstained hazmat suit I’d peeled off the guy whose windpipe I’d decided to remove. Wasn’t easy work, the stiff rubber suit was impossible to move freely in. In addition the guy who had this on before me possessed a massive head and the goggle/gas mask combo kept sliding down my face.

I shoved the mask firmly into place and turned the handle of the airlock. Time for some acting.

“Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, smashing the door shut behind me and sprinting to mash down on the red intercom button. “You gotta let me in! Just let me in the fucking place! I’m cut bad! I’m cut fucking bad!” I was really pushing the melodrama, clutching at the torn neck of the hazmat suit and playing it up just in case anyone was watching via security cam.

“Malcolm? Is that you?” a voice crackled back through the intercom just before I started to scream again.

“Just let me in now! Let me in!”

“What happened?” The voice on the other end had picked up in intensity.
I decided to stick to my guns. “Let me in! I’m bleeding fucking bad out here!” I pulled back from the intercom, lurched against the wall, letting the strap of the submachine gun I’d picked up drop from my shoulder to the crook of my arm.

I didn’t have to wait long. Instants later I felt air rushing into the little featureless steel room, flooding up from the grates beneath my feet in a cold wind. My eardrums felt like bursting as the pressure in the room curved up at first and then dropped sharply down. I swallowed frantically, felt my ears pop and my hearing return to normal as the pressure equalized. The door at the other end of the chamber swung outward and another figure sporting a yellow hazmat suit identical to mine, yellow with white reinforced rubber boots and gloves, massive goggles and gas mask respirator that completely obscured the man’s face.

“Malcolm!” The figure in the suit rushed into the room.

“Sorry, not the guy you’re looking for.” I straightened up from where I’d slumped against the wall and brought the submachine gun into play. “I’ll send you his way.”

The bullets took the man high in the chest sent him sprawling backwards through the oval porthole doorway. Well that was easy, felt like shopping at Staples.
Quote by J-Spoon
I did a forward roll into a backflip, caught the les paul and blasted out a face melting version of stairway to intimidate this mentally retarted kid on life support in a wheelchair that was trying to play it through an MG. What a loser.
#10
Quote by Rancid_Punk
Icy Hot


So fitting in The Pit

I like it. It is, as has been said, a bit corny, a bit cliche at some points. But it's well-written apart from that, methinks.

Also, you should consider posting the whole thing in the Songwriting and Lyrics forum, all sorts of literary works are allowed there if I remember correctly.


S t a i r s s r i a t S

#11
Quote by MushroomBomb
So fitting in The Pit

I like it. It is, as has been said, a bit corny, a bit cliche at some points. But it's well-written apart from that, methinks.

Also, you should consider posting the whole thing in the Songwriting and Lyrics forum, all sorts of literary works are allowed there if I remember correctly.

Yeah, I have a couple Pit-only jokes in the segments that I was hoping people would catch.

I usually write more serious and stylistically creative things, but I saw Transporter 3 recently and thought writing a cliched action hero would be fun. I wrote some bits for the Dee Pitt story in The Pit a long time back and thought I'd put this in The Pit because it's not writing I'm taking very seriously from a creative standpoint and I remembered how much fun the Dee Pitt stuff was.
Quote by J-Spoon
I did a forward roll into a backflip, caught the les paul and blasted out a face melting version of stairway to intimidate this mentally retarted kid on life support in a wheelchair that was trying to play it through an MG. What a loser.
#13
^^ MushroomEDIT: *reported* ^^

Quote by Rancid_Punk
Yeah, I have a couple Pit-only jokes in the segments that I was hoping people would catch.

I usually write more serious and stylistically creative things, but I saw Transporter 3 recently and thought writing a cliched action hero would be fun. I wrote some bits for the Dee Pitt story in The Pit a long time back and thought I'd put this in The Pit because it's not writing I'm taking very seriously from a creative standpoint and I remembered how much fun the Dee Pitt stuff was.


Yeah, Dee Pitt was effin' hilarious. I'd half suggest turning this story into a CYOA thing, but I don't want The Pit to ruin the nice things you already have


S t a i r s s r i a t S

#14
Quote by Dayman
Every time i see you, you're high fiving someone....

And TS, good writing, kid, you're gonna be a star!


#15
I like
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RNLAF

I Like Planes
#16
It kept my attention after the first paragraph, which is what alot of writers fail to do to an audience. I liked it.
#18
Thanks to everyone who liked it. I'll put up the next part now.

I moved softly and swiftly through the hallways, I’d rid myself of the bulky hazmat suit and was operating on what I’d memorized of the blueprints, another 500 feet and… Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I’d gotten careless and moved around that last corner too quickly, they’d seen me, the group of guards in their yellow suits. I hadn’t been able to dive back around the corner quick enough. I was spotted. It was only a matter of time before…

The alarm siren wailed out like someone had plugged a police car into a Marshall MG. Let me tell you a secret, there are three things I hate, smoke alarms, car alarms, and any other thing that makes annoying wailing or beeping sounds, which is why Tom Morello is on my hit list. These guys had made a mistake when they pulled that alarm, a big mistake.

I spun around, put my back to the wall I was hiding behind and ripped three grenades off the front of my vest. One after another I banked the grenades off the opposite wall and down the hall toward the guards. With a series of loud clunks I ricocheted them off the dull steel wall at different heights to blanket the greatest area with the resulting explosions.

I didn’t have to wait long, the concussion of explosion followed by satisfying screams of agony met my ears a few seconds later. Now was the time, hit ‘em while they’re scared. My twin AutoMag .44’s were already in my hands as I leaped out into the hallway, spinning to slam my feet into the wall I’d ricocheted the grenades off a moment before and propel myself down the hall at a sprinter’s pace. One man was on the ground, unmoving, another was screaming, half of his leg gone, his hazmat suit sheeted in blood, a bullet to the skull finished him off.

“Fuck!” I screamed and spun off to my left in the narrow hallway as machinegun fire ripped out from the smoke up ahead, apparently my grenades hadn’t done all the work. I knew there was a large room at the end of this hallway but I didn’t know how many men were in there, I’d only had a chance to glimpse 3 or 4 before I dove back. All that mattered now was that someone was trying to punch my ticket. I opened fire with both guns, letting half a dozen bullets fly at the yellow figure I could hardly make out through the haze and saw it pitch back.

More bullets now, bursts flying down the hallway, tearing into the walls as I dodged and dipped, pushing myself faster. A grenade came skittering down the hall, spinning like a top right for me. I kicked hard, the grenade arced up and away, back towards the room.

The blast sounded somewhere up ahead, I didn’t know how far, my head was down, arms covering it, protecting myself from any spare shrapnel as I plunged onward.

By the time I lifted my head the hallway was coming to an end, thinking fast I slid forward on my knees, gun arms extended and at the ready. I didn’t have time to think of an appropriate curse, there were too many of them. I fired on instinct at the yellow figures scattered across the massive circular room, kicking them down in succession with slugs almost half an inch wide.

My guns clicked on empty with half a dozen left standing. I leapt to my feet, sprinting, diving behind one of the yellow clad corpses as bursts of submachine gun fire splattered all around me, I felt bullets hit me in the back, stopped narrowly by my vest as I finally made it to my goal. I dropped the AutoMags and ripped the .22 from my belt, propped my arms up over the corpse and let loose at the men charging my position, guns firing.

I dropped 3 of them before they closed on me. I was up an instant later, ducking, charging, grabbed the first man my arm, rammed the .22 up under his gas mask, pulled the trigger. The spray of blood still hung in the air as I spun and slammed the next man in the throat with my elbow, he dropped like a newborn baby out a three story window. My pistol was empty, I ripped my knife out of its sheath as the last man finished reloading his submachine gun, racked back the bolt and trained it on me. I clicked down on the button in the handle of the knife and watched the blade flick out and across the 8 foot span between me and my would-be murderer’s throat. Spring loaded knife, Russian made Spetsnaz standard issue, and you know the Russians make good stuff.

I dispatched the man whose esophagus I’d crushed with my elbow by simply snatching up the gun he’d dropped and letting a burst find new residence in his face while he was still writhing on the ground. I cleaned up by retrieving my knife blade and reloading my pistols, keeping the AutoMags in my hand, no telling when whoever heard that alarm would come follow up this little welcome wagon.
Quote by J-Spoon
I did a forward roll into a backflip, caught the les paul and blasted out a face melting version of stairway to intimidate this mentally retarted kid on life support in a wheelchair that was trying to play it through an MG. What a loser.
#19
I remember the time I lay down in fiberglass insulation, not knowing what it was. I was bleeding all over my arms and face, hurt like a motherfucker.
You're using UG classic, congratulations.
You should be using UG classic.




E-Married to Guitar0Player

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