Dark Sun pt-1

(A little bit of a teaser for an upcoming Idea. If you like what you see so far, I might expand.)

The plains burned under the heat of the Second Sunrise. Kaiden pulled his shawl closer around his face to keep the sand out. He glared out through the thin hole covered in darkened glass.

This area of the dunes had been pounded hard by many feet traveling to and from the cities. Kaiden himself was traveling to Cailium. The extra layers over his mouth were beginning to fail, and the air he was breathing began to take on the dusty smell of sand. The sand was not dangerous in itself, but its slow grinding of the airways could make a man miserable, and lead to worse problems.

Kaiden had to get to Cailium before Second Sunfall or he would find himself shut out of the City for the whole of No Sun. 48 hours of starlit darkness, when the wastes finally cooled, but became chilled and remained waterless. Kaiden would die if he failed to arrive in time.

A sharp a shrill Clicking and whistling to his side indicated to him that his companion had noticed something.

T'kah was a full head and shoulders taller than Kaiden, and was one of the Thri-Kreen. The Desert Children, or Mantis-Folk. The upper right of his four clawed arms twiched irritably as he stared into the dunes.

"What do you see, T'kah?" Kaiden asked, not slowing.

T'Kah turned his ebony eyes to Kaiden and sighed. "Mirage. Even Thri-Kreen long for water after so long in the desert."

"You can go ahead to fetch some if you would like, T'kah. I can take care of myself."

"No, Kaiden. I will stay with my friend on his trail of hardship."

"You wouldn't have to go forever, just long enough to get some water and bring it back."

"Ah, but it would detract from the test, would it not?"

Kaiden sighed. It was going to be a long walk.

Carnivale

(This is a little character I've been bouncing around in my head. Lets see what you guys think.)


The masquerade was going wonderfully!
Mr. Edward Tillman's estate was bustling with guests, the wine was flowing, the laughter was booming, colors and masks danced in crazed circles through the air.

Mr. Tillman had just made another small fortune in investments. Chalk it up to luck that the poor little family had up and dissapeared, and their will for the property never recovered.
As long as the wine flowed, and the music played, nobody asked how. Nobody cared.

Except for one man.

Amongst all of the hustle, and all of the bustle, and all of the red and blue and gold and silver, there was a cloak of simple, elegant velvet. It was black like midnight, and seemed to move unhindered through the crowd, despite the flying legs, swinging arms, and drunkenly oblivious heads which should have collided with it.

Atop the cloak was a simple, black, tricorn hat. three points that formed a sort of arrow straight into the heart of the party.

Straight at Mr. Tillman.

Between the hat and the hooded cloak was an ivory mask. Like everything about this figure, it was simple and elegant. It would have borne a permanent half-smile if there were anything of a mouth, but all that it did was come down to a simple, elegant point. The mask was supposedly symbolic of Casanova. A man who was not simple, but elegant.

"Mr. Tillman!" came the voice behind the mask as it wheeled the bearded man around.

Mr. Tillman's mask had a long, crooked nose, and was adorned in blue and red and gold. His cloak was scarlet with golden trim. It was most expensive. It almost put Mr. Tillman's various imported cars to shame.

Almost.

Mr. Tillman, slightly drunkened by wine, tried to focus on the guest in front of him.
"And you would be?" he yelled over the dull roar of the party.

The figure leaned in close, so that the conversation was private.

"You could say that I am a debt collector." the mask said.

Mr. Tillman laughed, merry with wine and willing to joke. "Debt? I have no debt, my boy!"

The mask returned the laugh, hollow and chilling. "My dear friend," he said, in the way one says friend right before they become very unfriendly, "you have no debt in money. You, sir, owe a debt to a family of four that is lying face down in the bottom of the creek that runs under Downey Bridge, just five blocks south of the intersection of Wallace and Turnwood, which happens to be where a new apartment complex is being built. And I, Mr. Tillman, come to you as one business man to the next."

Mr. Tillman was no longer drunk. Mr. Tillman was stone sober. Mr. Tillman was not jolly.
Mr. Tillman was trying not to scream.
The mask knew everything.

"I can pay you!" Mr. Tillman stammered.

"Mr. Tillman, you indeed CAN pay me. I've actually come to collect my payment. Conducting some business if you will."

"Blackmailing me, are you?" Mr. Tillman said, trying to work up a good rage.

"Mr. Tillman, the media already knows. I've already given them the lead, the sources, and they will arrive shortly. I am a business man, Mr. Tillman. Surely you understand, I do what I must to be successful in my business, just like you, Mr. Tillman."

Mr. Tillman never had a chance to scream for help. The blade was sharp, the mask's aim was true. It looked like nothing more than a friendly embrace. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Tillman!" the mask said with cheer as it's gloved had moved the bloodied blade back into its cloak.

The way Mr. Tillman collapsed was simple, and elegant.


Howard, in his silver suit and basic, golden mask, didn't seem to take notice. He simply sipped his champagne one more time, and left. His friends said that they would see him at the country club tommorow, and he said that he might be late.

He had laundry to do.

The mask glided through the party once again, and stepped outside. The mask and cloak and hat stared into the simple, elegant sky. The moon stared back. The cloak and mask seemed to sigh, went rigid, and collapsed into nothing but a pile of discarded costume, waiting for the next act.

Atop was the blade, and a card:
"Carnivale"

Xerxes

(This has really become a Redeye Jack blog, hasn't it? Well, here's another installment.)


Jack glared into green eyes. The man who bore them held a knife lazily. He gazed at Jack with a smirk. Another cathedral. Always a cathedral. It was, in fact, the same cathedral as last time. The rosary window was still blown out, and most of the roof was missing. Snow was blowing into the burnt-up attic. Jack had just fought his way up three flights of stairs. He had watched the woman he loved get shot in the back. He had felt her die in his arms. He had heard her last words to him.

Jack's hand clenched on the handle of his revolver.
"One bullet left..." he said.

Xerxes' smirk turned into a grin. "One knife left."
The edge gleamed in the dawn sunlight peeking through the remains of the window.

Jack's glare intensified. "You ordered them to kill her, didn't you?"

Xerxes' grin only widened. "Both of you, actually. But I like that you survived. Makes the whole thing a bit more dramatic, does it not?"

"I hope you rot in hell." Jack growled.

"You can go ahead. I'll catch up later...but before I go, why did you leave us? Red Dragon, I mean?"

Jack spat. "Because I was sick of killing people. I was sick of it then, and I'm sick of it now. But I've got one last bullet, and I'm not gonna waste it."

"Very well then." Xerxes twitched.

a movement of muscle.
A glint of steel.
A flash of light.
Bang.
Blood and smoke.

Jack grunted as the knife cut his shoulder, deep into the muscular tissue. He was already beaten and bloodied, and this wasn't helping.

Xerxes was just grinning, a bullet hole in the wall next to his ear.
"You missed." He mocked.
"Oh, and Jack?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I lied."

There was a whistle as a second knife sliced through the air. It buried itself in Jack's chest.

He collapsed and fell backward.

Xerxes stood over him as he struggled for breath, his vision blurring and doubling erraticaly.

Xerxes leaned down and grinned in his face. "So sorry, Jack. But business is business."

"It's alright, Xerxes...." Jack whispered.

"Really now?" Xerxes mused.

"Yeah....I lied, too."

Bang.

Redeye Jack

I have received one or two whispers that I should explain who Redeye Jack IS. As opposed to doing that, I'll just post the first chapter of the novel which may or may not ever be finished.
Enjoy! (Starts at Red text)

CHAPTER 1
Demon Eye
July 21st, 2096

To anyone on the outside looking in, Jack didn’t have any reason to be here. It was some seedy bar in some seedy backwater city, with nobody in it that was particularly worth noticing. Jack sparked his lighter and lit his cigarette, taking a long drag before resuming his pleasant conversation with the man reading the newspaper.

“30 grand.” He said calmly before blowing a thin stream of smoke from his lips.

“They have information you might be looking for, as you’ll recall.” The man said in a voice that betrayed his outward calm. The man looked to be in his 40’s, he had no hair, and he was wearing a pair of yellow-tinted sunglasses.

“That’s why it won’t cost you 50.” Jack took another drag before crushing the cigarette into the ashtray sitting on the table between them.

“How do I know you’ll get the job done?” the man asked with only a passing glance away from his paper.

“I have an excellent track record,” Jack said after letting some smoke trail from the side of his mouth, “and you’ve seen it for yourself. You know it’s real.”

“Know what’s real?” the man asked, taking another glance away from his paper.

“My eye.” Jack said calmly, leaning back in his chair. “I saw you look at it. Twice.”

“I suppose I can’t help but be curious.” The man said, turning to a new page in his newspaper. “If you’re sure you can do it, then I suppose I can arrange payment.”

“Don’t give me that crap.” Jack said in a voice both jesting and derisive, a thin smile on his lips.

“What do you mean?” the man said with the slightest hesitation. He knew he had been caught the instant he spoke, but Jack could tell the man needed the job done and a little embarrassment wasn’t about to stop that.

“I won’t do it unless you guarantee it. Ten thousand now, the rest when the job is done. It’s a good deal. Take it.” Jack pulled out another cigarette and twirled it in his fingers.

“Fine. I’ll accept that.” A briefcase was placed on the table between them, and Jack gladly transferred it to his side of the table. “The details are inside.”

Jack smiled and stood up, briefcase in hand and cigarette between his lips. “It was a pleasure.”

He was out the door and down the street in less than 2 minutes, on his way to the motel he was staying in. The street was dark and damp, and the cloudy night sky didn’t help it look any better. Jack passed several men selling drugs, waving them off before they could even open their mouths. They’d all be selling the same thing, and he didn’t want it. He’d stick with nicotine. Thinking of which, it was time for another smoke.

Jack unlocked his room and stepped inside, flicking on the light without a conscious thought. Everything was brown and old. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he found a raccoon on his bed, even though they hadn’t bothered to bring any when they terraformed this horrible, red, space rock. Mars had been left for the dregs of society even before the Flare Tragedy on Earth. Now it was keeping to its roots while the other planets were being colonized and actually becoming useful. Of course, humankind had only gone as far inward as Venus and as far outward as Saturn, but they made good use of moons. This job would be Jack’s ticket to wherever she was. But one thing he knew for certain: it wasn’t anywhere on Mars. He used the nightstand to snuff his cig, since they hadn’t provided an ashtray. It soon joined with a small mound of similarly discarded cigarettes. The small mound of butts forming on the table was not started by Jack, however. He had found it when he arrived. He was just contributing to the monument.

He popped open the briefcase and pulled out the disc containing the information. He groaned a little, since it would mean a lot of time waiting for the stupid motel computer to read it. He slid it into the dusty slot while the terminal warmed up, and passed the time counting the cash. He was just over five thousand when the terminal finally decided to spring to life.

He slid over to the rusty can of a computer and delicately used the rust-caked control board to open the file on the disc. It was a list of instructions. The disc told him to go back to the bar the next night and get into a truck that would take him to a small compound on the outskirts of the city. Supplies would be in the truck, and so would blueprints of the compound. Jack smelled a rat. It wasn’t long before he heard it too, scratching around the room. One sudden bang later the rat was very dead, a large hole remaining where its head used to be. Jack slipped his revolver into its holster with a disdainful scowl. “Little disease bag…”

The document continued, telling him that his target was named Joseph Hook, the leader of a local drug cartel. Jack smiled to himself. “Perhaps this will get rid of the pushers around here?” He thought to himself. But then a new thought. “Or maybe he’s got info on Red Dragon?” he always thought the name of that crime syndicate was lame, but it was the last one left and was thought to be related to every speck of crime on every planet, moon, and space station. But it wasn’t a sure bet. Jack figured there was a 50/50 chance this guy was working for them.

Jack already hated this job. He knew he was probably being drawn into working for some kind of police force and wouldn’t be told until the job was done. Too bad he’d already signed the contract, and the $10,000 he had wasn’t enough to get off the planet and live anywhere else for any significant amount of time. He frowned to himself and moved back to the bed, touching the lights off before lying down and closing his eyes. He made sure to sleep on top of the sheets, since he didn’t even want to know what kind of parasites the bed had in it. He let himself drift off into the darkness, embracing the brief hours he would have away from reality. The only place he could see her.

Everything was dark, but he could hear her humming. The melody was soft, sweet, and sad. He could hear the crackling of a fire…and something else, that wasn’t quite familiar. He only knew that she was doing …something. She paused in her song for a moment. The air grew eerily empty.

“Please keep singing.” He whispered.

Jack sat up in bed, the sun suddenly glaring through the window into his eyes. He groggily picked himself up and went into the bathroom, which was as grime-covered as the rest of the room.

He stared into the mirror at his face. His stringy black hair dangled down to his chin, a few strands covering his eyes. His eyes…they were so foreign to him. His left was a crystal blue. The color he was born with. But his right was crimson. It was a post-birth genetic enhancement. It wasn’t supposed to be possible, but Red Dragon had done it anyways. They never did like being told no, even when it was reality saying it. They told him that they called it the “Demon’s Eye” and he told them to go shut their head in an airlock. Of course, being the arrogant bums they were, they proceeded to go into extravagant detail about its many uses. Apparently, it used “soft electric pulses” or something to knock out someone else’s perception of him. He could now also see things far better, and if he focused, he could actually see things in a sort of slow-motion way.

After this explanation, he changed his mind about shoving their head into an airlock, and suggested they shut something entirely different into an airlock, and they got the message and left.

Man, he wanted a cigarette. He retrieved one from a fresh carton and took a few long drags before flicking it into the trashcan and starting the shower. It took several seconds for the water to muscle past the grime in the pipes, and several more seconds to lose the brown color. Jack wouldn’t be taking off his socks for this shower.

As the disturbingly thick water hit his body, Jack began thinking again. It always scared people when he did that, but it was part of life. After he was done on Mars, where would he go? Earth was trashed, but he did remember something about a cathedral…they didn’t have many of those off of Earth anymore. Most people lost religion when they watched Earth’s moon get half blown-up and half melted into a twisted, glassy-looking ball of crap that now constantly rained small meteorites on the surface of Earth. Jack hated when he started thinking about history. That was over 25 years ago. He wasn’t even born yet.

He toweled himself off, unsure of whether he felt cleaner or dirtier after that shower. Either way, he put on some jeans, a dark red T-shirt and his coat. He slipped on his hat on the way out and immediately began wondering what he was going to do all day.

There was nothing fun about this city. The city of New Vegas was absolutely nothing like the original. It was more like New York without the soul, and with all the old mess. Jack figured it was better than, say, New Tokyo, which was hovering somewhere in high orbit over Jupiter, constantly fighting with the gas giant’s constant pull. Word was that it was the main hub for Red Dragon activity, and that you couldn’t walk 5 feet without getting mugged at least once. The thought brought a smile to Jacks face, the mere absurdity of it. Imagine being the 5th mugger in the line. Everybody would be out of money by the time they got to you.

New Vegas was rather dimly lit during the day, but it was downright blinding compared to the nights. There were no stars to be seen above, thanks to the heavy amounts of terraformic gases that were still lingering, still creating oxygen and atmosphere. For now, it just looked like smog. Too bad the scientists who invented the stuff didn’t make it pink. Then it might have made New Vegas a much more pleasant place to live.

Jack lit another cig and took a drag. He let it out slowly into the air so as not to annoy others walking down the street. Not that he cared about them, he just didn’t want any unnecessary hassle. He walked into a diner and sat down. He could at least get some breakfast.

“Late start today?” the waitress asked in a voice that was too annoying for it not to be done on purpose.

“Is there anybody else who can serve me? Someone who doesn’t make my ears bleed?” At least, that’s what came to mind first. But that would just compromise the edibility of the food he was about to eat. So instead he put on his best smile and said, “Yep. I consider myself lucky I got up at all.”

“Partying?” the waitress asked, her voice slightly less annoying now.

“No,” Jack said, forcing his smile to continue, “business.”

The waitress looked at him through one eye and asked what he wanted to eat. Jack could feel his smile wavering but forced it to stay.

“Coffee, please, and something breakfast-ish, I don’t care what. An omelet, I guess.”

“Denver omelet okay?”

“Sure, if it’s good.”

She smiled at him and walked away, leaving Jack to drop the smile with a sigh of relief. He hated being nice to annoying people. But he never knew when he could use a hiding place. This diner might be good. He would have to set up connections here in case he ever came back.

Jack shuddered at the thought.

Evening

(Before I begin, I'm going to select a random writing prompt from my handy book here. Then I'll start writing.)
(Here we go. The prompt is: "Evening was the time for..." and I have selected a character from a story I am writing named Jack Silver AKA Redeye Jack.)


Evening was the time for rest after a long day's work, for sitting back, relaxing. It was supposed to be when you went to the bar, had a beer and a smoke, and talked with other drunk, smoking people. For Jack, things were different. Sure, he smoked and drank as much as the next man, but he was here for business.

Evening was the time for business.

His current employer asked him to do some dirty work. Jack was good at dirty work. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be making money. Jack had been dropped off in front of a small, rundown apartment building. Apparently, it was the hideout for a gang that was too much trouble for the cops to handle, and not enough for the military to handle. That was Jack. The middle man.

Evening was the time for the middle man.

The sun was barely below the rooftops of New Vegas. A Mars colony started up around 15 years ago. It could be said that is had been going downhill lately, but it's hard to drop below the bottom. New Vegas was a giant slum. Always was. Always would be. A slum full of people who killed people for drugs, or for pleasure. Or, occasionally, if you were good enough, for money.
Jack wondered vaguely as he kicked the door in and fired two bullets into the bewildered man in front of him, how dissapointed these guys would be if they learned how much they were worth to his employer. Oh well.

Evening was the time for 50 bucks a body.

The room was full of gang members, who were now looking at Jack with some vague intrest. A mixture of brown and green eyes stared at the odd mix of blue and red standing in the doorway.
bang. fifty bucks. You had to get a nickname from somewhere, right? bang. fifty bucks. Bullets were now spraying in Jack's direction, a swarm of metal whizzing by. bang. fifty bucks.

Evening was the time for bang.

It was breif, and punctuated. The last man left was the leader, cowering with soggy pants in a back room, which Jack assumed hadn't smelt this bad five minutes previous. He was shaved bald, had a mustache. He had some blood from his fallen lackeys on his face and clothing. Funny thing, really. The top of the pyramid seems high and mighty, right up until you kick out the bottom rung.

Evening was the time for kicking out the bottom rung.

Jack let the man stare into his eyes. Surely he thought he faced a demon. He began to stammer. click. He shut up. Jack regarded him, and opened his mouth. "500 bucks so far." he smirked. "But hey, you should be proud of yourself. You're worth a grand."

Evening was the time for bang. a thousand bucks.

Greetings and Salutations

My name is Nathan Scovill.

This is my blog. Nice, isn't it? I think so.

I established this little place as a location to put things that I write up to the scrutiny of an unloving public. Of course, one must realize that these will all be rough drafts, with few exceptions. Some will be from longer stories I am still working on, some will be stand alone, and some will be nothing more than silly or serious essays.
Also, I may or may not post a few of the videos I have made in the past using MS Paint and Windows Movie Maker. Because I consider myself a master of film. (HA!)

Basically, anything I create that I feel like sharing will go on this blog, along with any interesting bits of my life.

ENJOY!