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Shadow Play

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posted on Mar, 30 2009 @ 03:21 PM
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This is a work of fiction. No assumption of fact is implied nor should any assumption of fact be inferred from this work. Despite the use of "Sol" as a main character, the name shares no commonality with any persons, living or dead (especially the author). In short, I have pulled all of this "off the top of my head", so to speak.

(c) SolaceMournerVII, 2009. Please give credit where credit is due.


Shadow Play



Chapter 1: The Advent of the Culmination



23 January 2102 AD
Colorado Springs, CO

The snowstorm had come and gone, but the Sun's failed attempt to break through the immobile mass of clouds overhead had forced much of the public to seek shelter indoors. That is where Sol found himself, at the library. Even on a day where the city bustled about outside, Sol would have sought refuge within those walls, subconsciously taking in the aroma of aged pages and the ambient sound of intellectual banter and the tapping of practiced fingers working at the keys of the numerous computer terminals.

After ordering a white chocolate mocha and sitting down to a collection of tomes he had handpicked off the shelf, Sol sighed with pleasant relief at the task set before him. What many viewed as a daunting endeavor of endless tedium, Sol saw as an opportunity to uncover the truth that so many around him missed.

The seat hesitated with staccato chops against the weathered carpet as Sol pulled it from the table far enough for him to sit. He opened his notepad and--next to it--the first book in his collection. Slowly, with a meticulous nature foreign to every other aspect of his life, Sol wrote down every name, date, and significant event he came across. The information could all be sorted more evenly at a later time. Indeed, time was a stolid enemy that showed no mercy or remorse, slipping away feverishly as Sol gleaned through the allies of information and fact.

The current book Sol had before him was one on a subject he would soon become far too familiar with, even for Sol's own taste. One could even compare him to the ignorant readers of the 19th century, eating up the stories of wild cowboys in the even more wild West of the United States. Such stories were often met with childish smiles, as readers imagined themselves in the shoes of the story's hero. Such a smile graced Sol's face as he plucked through the text on Men In Black.

Unlike the Hollywood perception of comical, fanciful men tasked with keeping alien operations as covert as possible, the pair that watched Sol from across the lobby were stolid, practical creatures. Sol had not immediately noticed them, but upon perceiving eyes watching his every move, like so many tourists before the Mona Lisa, Sol's smile faded and his eyes locked heavily with the pair.

Sol shut his notepad slowly, his eyes never leaving the dark lenses that stared back. As he piled his resources into his backpack, a small shred of hope swelled within Sol.

"Perhaps they aren't," Sol thought to himself as he attempted--and failed--to act as casually as possible, averting his eyes to the floor and striding past the two suits. His already tense shoulder jumped with fear as the clammy, pallor hand of one of the pair landed firmly on him. Sol sucked in a gasp, looking sharply from the floor to the towering figure that stood as Sol stepped back.

"Mr. Hammerson." The noise seemed to echo in the man's chest, and Sol swore for half a moment that the man's lips hadn't moved.

"No, sorry," Sol lied as he attempted to brush the man off and move past.

"Mr. Hammerson." The suit repeated, looking down on Sol as a god might look down on a failed servant shortly before the poor slave's summary execution. His tone was more insistent, and less of a question than a statement that said so much more than a name. "Sit yourself down and cooperate," is more what it was.

"Can I help you?" Sol asked.

[edit on 30/3/2009 by SolaceMournerVII]




posted on Mar, 30 2009 @ 03:38 PM
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This is a work of fiction. No assumption of fact is implied nor should any assumption of fact be inferred from this work. Despite the use of "Sol" as a main character, the name shares no commonality with any persons, living or dead (especially the author). In short, I have pulled all of this "off the top of my head", so to speak.

(c) SolaceMournerVII, 2009. Please give credit where credit is due.


Shadow Play



Chapter 1: The Advent of the Culmination


Part II



23 January 2102 AD
Colorado Springs, CO

The man stared humorlessly at Sol's face, taking in his black hair and gaunt, pale features. Sol simultaneously took stock of the pair, who appeared to be almost identical. Both men were standing now, at exactly the same height. Sol was a tall fellow at six feet, four inches, but each man must have been four inches above his own height. Their jet black hair was combed in exactly the same style, with a flair that suggested military background. Sol could barely make out hazel eyes that nearly seemed to emit a dull glow behind dark sunglasses. Aside from their staunch demeanor and the aforementioned eyewear, Sol might have mistaken the pair for very large Bible salesmen. That, and if all religious texts had not been previously banned some years before.

"You will come with us," the other finally said. He spoke very pointedly out of his slit of a mouth. Sol glimpsed something metallic at the man's tonsils for a brief moment. It was at that moment that Sol had a decision to make. By the general laws of the land, Sol knew federal agents would provide identification. If they didn't, he could cry bloody murder and hope that the pair would disappear in lieu of being apprehended by more traditional authorities--preferably the sort with large handguns.

"Says who? Who are you?" Sol demanded, stepping far enough away from the pair to make a run for it if necessary.

"It is a matter of national security," the first man said.

"You will come with us," the second man repeated.

Sol swore at the pair, hoping his disdain would hide his fear. His eyes darted around the lobby, but what had seemed to be a bustling libary just a few moments before had now turned into a vacant trap. Sol half expected spaghetti western music tracks to play over the public address as the distance seemed to grow between himself and the behemoths. He almost felt himself going for a gun at his hip as his feet defaulted to his "flight response".

In the three steps that Sol made in half a second, it was exactly one step short of the distance necessary for his successful departure. The bridge of his nose was given a curt introduction to the elbow of the second man, and his shoulders were re-introduced to the grip of the first. Stunned, the boy of a man fell back and lost his balance, leaning into the grip of the tree trunk that took hold of him. Then, a sharp pain surged momentarily through Sol's back, but the world had gone black before he felt it in his brainpan.



posted on Apr, 4 2009 @ 05:55 PM
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Interesting, what happens next?
Reminds me of the Matrix, "Mr. Anderson, you lead two lives... By day, a respected computer programmer, at night... you are responsible for every computer crime we have a name for..."

(Go Neo FTW!)

Cool start anyhow



posted on Apr, 5 2009 @ 12:52 AM
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What happens next is that I get writer's block and lose a fight with my laundry machine to salvage the notes I'd made for the rest of the chapter, so then I get to spend my spare time starting with this from where I left off and trying to flesh out my characters again.


I apologize for the delay; I'll finish up as best I can.



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