Alright...so this year I'm doing NaNoWriMo...anyone else doing it. I've tried it in the past and haven't succeeded. This willbe the first year I do. 50,000 word novel in 30 days...I got this.

This year I have the advantage of actually being confident in my writing. Thank you First Agers!!!

Anyways - if you're gonna do it - post here. I'll post my profile later so we can be writing buddies :-)

Anyone else - as someone who had done this before (well tried to). It can be quite the undertaking. Encouragment is appreciated :-)

Any dreamwalkers who want to jump in on Who Told You That You Were Naked by all means feel free

As always the Dream seamed so surreal to John. Teeming with crisp sensations with a backdrop of a 'what if' kind of foreboding. It had been over ten years since his first experience here, at yet he still felt like a child in a laboratory. Well, maybe more like the lab rat.

He still wasn't ready to physically step back into the dream even though it felt so natural and exhilarating. Bear's warning still resonated in John's mind, "You truly know nothing, Bear sent to him. Forcing this place to your will. You come too strongly! Do you understand that a moment's slip on your part will cause the pressure of the ocean to crush you before you could blink?"


And then there was that encounter with the Regus. Why didn't he kill me? John had no doubt that pound for pound Armande could beat the brakes off him. John was no stranger to killing, but he was well aware of when he was overmatched. Unless the Regus was equally aware that it would have been a short-lived victory. A general is sort of useless on foot in the trench.
No, Armande must still believe that even though they left 'agreeing to disagree' that John would somehow further the cause of the Atharim.
"Then you say you have no interest in involvement in political disputes, but are willing to brand the Ascendancy as a monster you would hunt." What an enormously conflicting statement. How disappointing Mr. Smith did not think more clearly what he spewed.


"You condone the elimination of potentially thousands of people, if they conform to your definition of evil, but yet detest genocide. When does war turn into genocide? If the enemy is evil? Or if the enemy is simply your enemy?"


Fucking Armande. He hit the nail on the head. What was my qualification to judge? How do I know whether I am on the right side of this conflict? I even attempted to convince Jensen James to engage supernatural creatures in what may become an apocalyptical struggle. Where is the line between right and wrong drawn? And where do I sit in relation, or should I say where do I sit positionally in relation to that line?

As John's mind wandered, visions floated in and out of the dream, always at his periphery. Visions of the monsters that he had slain, of the Regus, of the Ascendancy. Of God.

When did you judge? Why do you judge? What right have you to judge? Did I not declare My creation to be 'Very Good?' WHO TOLD YOU THAT YOU WERE NAKED?


The voice boomed in his head. It permeated all around him. But how do you answer such a severe line of questioning? With your balls hanging so low that they drag on the ground!


<big>"I said it! I judged your creation! Right or wrong, I ate of the tree! And with the Knowledge of Good and Evil there comes the responsibility to know right from wrong. And with that knowledge comes the burden of judgment. So mutherfucker, I said that I was naked!"
</big>

And reality quivered.


Edited by doulou, Oct 1 2014, 10:17 PM.

Pyotr woke up the next day to a slight hangover. He didn't think he had enough to warrant one, but then again, Pyotr didn't drink much. Waking up next to Michelle had been a surprise and Pyotr still couldn't believe that he had really left with her. Turns out it did happen and that she took Nox's "take care of him" comment very seriously.

The night had been fun. The morning after, slightly awkward. The text from the night before had been from Yegor - and he was informing Pyotr that his childish way of getting back at him was to tell Michelle his "secret." Michelle didn't look at her Wallet until waking up. That led to a slightly awkward conversation about Pyotr's sexual orientation. She wanted the truth and Pyotr saw no reason not to tell her he was bisexual. There was no sense in lying about it.

She believed him...and was okay with it. After all, it wasn't the double-zeros any more and Putin wasn't running the show anymore. She didn't care, but said she wished he hadn't tried to hide it. He didn't explain that until recently he had been completely confused. Sometimes he still was. He texted Jensen one time when she had gone to the bathroom. Sunday after Mass, he was going to tell him that he'd discovered this about himself. He knew Jensen would understand and be supportive.

Michelle had to work today and he didn't envy her. The headache wasn't that bad, but still he wished the sun wasn't so bright - and the stupid snow made it worse. She got ready and Pyotr got dressed. He was going to walk her to work today before heading to Gracies - he had to meet Charlie today.

They walked and talked on the way to the Kremlin. Pyotr almost laughed when he saw the look on Yegor's face when he saw them. Pyotr gave Yegor a sort of "what's up" nod. It felt good to drive the "you're an asshole" knife in deeper.

Michelle caught it and chuckled before giving him a slight kiss on the cheek and going into work. He hoped Yegor wouldn't give her any issues, but Pavel was there today - Pyotr sent him a text to ask him to keep an eye out. She'd be okay.

Then Pyotr went home to shower and get ready for his workout. Hopefully it would be a good day.

Memories were such fickle thing. Nox remembered things, some things were completely random, others were very specifics, like the fact that he had this awesome power. He could reign in control of this amazing light, and create some pretty devastating things. At first it was just this trickle of power. A weave of air to push a man backwards. But as Nox sat in the tunnels of the underground, he could see so much potential. Strands of fire and air glowed in front of his eyes. He fashioned a whip from them that he could crack from the ends of one tunnel to the end of the other. The flames and the air licked the sides of the tunnel, but never extinguished. The feeling of holding the power was intoxicating. He wanted to draw upon it, drink it till he was full. But he never would be, he could feel the doom of doing so before even trying. This power was devastating, he knew that, for himself and to others, but Nox loved it none-the-less.

Everything was so clear, so vivid, every sight was so detailed, every sound so crisp, every smell vivid. Nox bet food tasted it's best while holding the power so close to hand. The world turned on above his head, as he dove deeper into the tunnels with his ball of glowing light. He wasn't searching for anything specific, but he wanted a fight. A real fight - the guys at the local gyms were not what he was looking for. Sure Bas was a good fight, but the danger in the ring was not for him - there was none. And he couldn't logically use his ability in the arena of someplace public. He felt the definite desire to keep his ability secret, so the depths of the underground city is where he sought an opponent. One could only imagine the horrors one would find down here.

Emily checked her make up in the mirror one last time before adjusting her tie. She wore a black business jacket, white shirt with a black tie, and a knee length black skirt. Black suited her mood just fine. She was still grieving, and she was more nervous now than she had ever been. She left the dressing room and took a deep breath. She had called for the press conference. She didn't hate the press, and her reasons for avoiding them had been simple - she was grieving and stressed. She couldn't think straight. She wanted them to have real answers. Eventually the press sought out her board and even her employees. Thankfully, they had been trained well to say "no comment."

The Press Room was set up like a stage - a raised platform at the front with a lectern on top with a curtain behind it. The Shale logo had been lowered from the ceiling. There was a backstage area and as Emily entered, her board of directors went on stage and took seats. Her assistant, Andrew stood out of view of the crowd. He wouldn't enter until she did.

She approached him. "Are you ready?"
he said.

"I don't know. Am I doing the right thing?"


Andrew gave her an encouraging smile. "Emily,"
Andrew had known her since she was a little girl - using her first name wasn't unusual, but it was the first time he had used it since she had taken over. It got her attention. "I saw your parents build this company from the ground up. Trust me when I say they'd be very proud of you."


Emily could feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes at the compliment. "No crying - you'll smear your make-up."
he said with a smirk and Emily let out a short laugh and wiped her eyes. "The sooner we start...."


"...the sooner it's over. Let's go."
With that, Andrew turned around and walked on stage, Emily following with a smile and working up the courage to shake hands.

Emily waved and moved to shake hands with the board members. Each one rose to take hers. The applause from the crowd along with the clicking sound of cameras added to her nerves. The board members knew she was nervous and each one gave her an encouraging smile. They had decided to have the board sit behind her - a literal symbol that they were all behind her. She moved to the lectern.

She waited with a smile for the applause to diminish and spoke. "Members of the press, board members, honored guests, colleagues, and friends. I thank you for your patience as this meeting comes to order. Shale Industries has lost a pair of visionaries and we have needed the time to grieve that. For your patience, we thank you."


Emily could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and she thought of Andrew's little joke to force them back. "The death of my parents has been painful, but it has brought us to thinking about what they stood for. They were businesspeople - and they felt that is was important to use their success to help others. Shale Industries wants to restate it's dedication to helping the underprivileged get training and jobs and stretching out a hand to those who need to be picked up. Believing the family is the most important unit in society, Shale Industries is announcing 'The Orphan Project.' This initiative will work to make sure that orphanages are properly staffed and will seek to find ways to speed up the adoption process so that orphans can find loving families more quickly."


More applause and camera clicks. Emily's smile was genuine and she couldn't help but feel proud. "The Orphan Project" was her idea. She looked at her notes, and the smile disappeared as her heart saddened. The people in the room noticed the change and for the first time since the conference had started, the room became silent - even the clicking cameras had stopped.

"Shale Industries was founded under the principles of helping those in need, and today, we see that. The crisis in Sierra Leone and the tragic bombings in Mexico City cannot be ignored. There are people there suffering, so Shale Industries has decided to pledge one million dollars to both Sierra Leone and Mexico City to aid those affected and to assist with rebuilding in the name of Martin and Victoria Shale."


The silence was broken once more by applause and cameras. Emily waited once more for the noise to die down. "The question remains: What will become of Shale Industries. We pride ourselves on our philanthropy, but also on our innovation. Shale Industries will continue to remain dedicated to bring our customers the finest products we can. A product can always be improved and we are continually looking for those improvements. Our employees show their dedication to their work daily - it is why we've seen so much success. With that dedication, we will continue to research new technologies, develop better software, build more bridges, and continue to provide you with the finest products for the best price."


A slight pause. "I know some of you doubt me and I do not deny that I have large shoes to fill. I remember though, that the success of this company was not built only on my parents' shoulders. The men and women behind me were there - many of them from the beginning. Our employees are dedicated. All of this has made Shale Industries what it is today. To all who work under the Shale Logo, I thank you for your hard work and dedication. I know that with your work and dedication, Shale Industries will not only continue to be successful, but it will continue to grow. I'm confident in the future of Shale Industries. Thank you."


Emily ended her speech and more applause rang through the room. She shook hands with her board members again and went back to the lectern. Doubtless there would be questions, but Emily was feeling confident now and wasn't worried.




Edited by Emily Shale, Sep 27 2014, 11:59 AM.

Seems zeta boards did an update yesterday while the servers went down.

Tweet button on all threads should make Asc's life a little easier.

And a multi-login option.. yay! Maybe I won't post as the wrong character anymore? (yeah right, I know I'll find a way to screw up hehe)

There are a few things on the admin side for you too Asc

Only a few days after the Temne attack on the capital, and things there had grown deceptively quiet. Sierra Leone had never had a large military; a few thousand troops, mostly tasked to border security along their border with the failed state of Guinea. Nearly a third of that military had taken up residence in the capital, bolstered by local militias and Mende volunteers. General Wallace-Johnson had been known for his 'charismatic' impact on his troops even before the failed coup, although to most it was better seen as fear. But fear, as it turned out, was an effective motivator at times.

The situation in the city were quiet. Almost peaceful, if one could ignore the still fresh damage that had been caused by the fighting. The fires were extinguished, but the gutted ruins of apartments and businesses remained. The ruined hospitals and schools, government buildings. Military vehicles patrolling the streets, and curfews in place. It was not a peaceful quiet.

There was a steady flow of refugees into the city, but not nearly as overwhelming as may have been expected. Jacques' suspicions, and the reports of some of his men manning a make-shift refugee camp near the city, were quickly confirmed as a five vehicle convoy departed the Legion's headquarters in the now mostly empty embassy district.

Unusually, Jacques rode in the lead vehicle, leaving Natalie and Legionnaire Carpenter in the middle of the small convoy. The five Legion Premiere Landrovers had little trouble making their way through the trickle of refugees that had been let into the city by the military checkpoints that guarded the highway into the city.

Legionnaire Vanders was given shotgun in the lead vehicle, with Jacques and one other Legionnaire taking the back seats. They were stopped at each of the military check points, and even by one patrol in the city proper, and each time Jacques had dismounted, and spoke in private with the commanding officer. And each time he remounted with less physical cash tucked into a pouch on his load-bearing vest, and a rapidly worsening hope for the outlook of Sierra Leone.

Corruption was rampant in the organized chaos that currently existed. The government had come to a halt. Public services were already suffering due to lack of funding. The military knew full well that under the current situation, they were not being paid. And so bribes were a necessary evil. Many of the men who joined the Sierra Leone military had never done so out of a sense of civic duty. They had done it for easy jobs and a steady pay.

As they passed the layers of checkpoints that guarded Freetown along the highway, the orders that the military were operating under became readily apparent. Seacans or existing buildings had been pressed into service as prison cells, where 'suspicious' individuals were held for processing. Abandoned vehicles were pushed into the ditches on the sides of the highway, their drivers arrested or the vehicles having broken down or simply run out of fuel.

Belongings lay scattered in piles at the checkpoints, where Sierra Leonean soldiers, loyal to General Wallace-Johnson, had 'searched' for contraband or weapons. Of course, any valuables were taken also, especially if the owner couldn't pay a worth-while bribe. The further from the city they drew, the larger the crowds gathered at each checkpoint, until they finally passed the last, at Waterloo.

A commandeered civilian tractor sat idling at one side, and a barricade of wrecked cars and earth had been erected as crude chicanes to block the road. A dozen soldiers were bolstered by dozens more militiamen, little more then common thugs with guns or machetes, enforcing ques as people struggled to be next in line to try their luck at passing into the rumored safety of Freetown.

The Landrovers were put to a harsh test as the Legion convoy was forced to drive off-road after paying their passage at the military checkpoint, but after a half hour of bushwacking through muddy side roads or fields, they were able to return to the relatively flat surface that was the Masiaka-Yonibana Highway.

The highway ran through industrial parks that had popped up in only the past few years, and residential slums that had existed for decades. The facilities were mostly abandoned after the recent violence, and many had been looted. Some sported fire damage, and countless millions of dollars of damage had been caused. Many of the facilities would never be reopened, even if the country were to have returned to normal that very day.

The facility the Legion had pressed into service as a refugee camp was actually located some ten kilometers south west of the large town, hidden away in the dense jungle and accessed by surprisingly well maintained, paved, roads. Some five minutes later they were met by two Legionnaires on quads who rev'd their all-terrain vehicles out of the jungle off the heavy duty road and led the convoy into the facility.

The industrial facility was a state of the art processing plant. Mined oar was shipped in by truck, and a 'low pollution' processing technique turned out refined rhodium and other rare precious metals. A solid concrete fence surrounded the large facility, topped with rows of barbed wire and spaced surveillance cameras. Low towers dotted it's length and corners where security personnel could stand if the cameras failed or the added security was deemed necessary, and only one large automated gate allowed entrance to the facility.

Tall smoke stacks dominated the skyline of the facility, as well as the unknowably complex catwalks and open-framed structures that housed equipment and machinery. Nothing of the facility spoke of it being a good choice for a refugee camp, other then the perimeter wall of course. And the presence of the high-efficiency hydroelectric dam that provided a portion of the facility's operating power requirements. With none of the refinement processing running, it was enough to keep the lights, AC, and water running.

Hundreds of people had been taken in already, many residents of Masiaka or it's outlying communities. Most of the facility's workers had left, and few had bothered to return with their families, had they been lucky enough that they lived near the plant. The flag of the Red Cross flew from a flag pole that had likely once held the Chinese flag, as it had been one of their companies that owned the facility. That still owned it, technically.

The flag of Legion Premiere was sported from a far less prominent post below that of the Red Cross. Of course, calling the place a refugee camp was a stretch of the imagination. Sure, it had Red Cross staff to help aid those who had fled there for protection, but those staff were held there under protective custody more then being of their own free will. Luckily though, none of them were foolish enough to want to be outside the sturdy walls of the processing plant.

They passed the open gate, where a large earth mover sat just off from the gate to be used as an impromptu barricade should there have been cause. The facility had never been intended to house even the hundred or so workers that had been employed there. With the near two hundred refugees living within the walls, the place was crowded but strangely organized.

Crude shelters had been built out of lumber harvested from the surrounding jungle, established in neat, organized rows with space between. Fires were communal, and used for cooking and boiling water; the facility had running water and a kitchen facility, but it was not nearly large enough to handle the number of people that were housed there.

But despite all the hard work of the Red Cross staff rescued from Masiaka, the severe shortage of supplies was readily evident. People were hungry and tired, without enough shelter. Wounds were bound with boiled re-used bandages, and many showed signs of infection and fever was already evident in the tightly packed population.

The Legion convoy entered the facility and the pair of Legionnaires on the quads turned away and resumed their patrol of the surrounding jungle. They occasionally found groups of people still hiding in the jungle, trying to escape the violence that had plagued Masiaka since the coup attempt. And worked to track any Temne rebels in the area.

Some of the Legionnaires present were wounded themselves; black eyes and split lips, bruises. They had extracted the Red Cross workers, but had not done so unscathed, and a few of their number had been beaten by an angry mob of Temne sympathizers before they had managed to escape thanks to their regular training in crowd control techniques. More importantly, thanks to those drills and skills, the Legionnaires and their locally hired guards hadn't resulted to deadly force.

The vehicles were guided to one side of the gate, where there was enough clear space that they would be able to circle and be ready to drive out again when Jacques and Natalie's inspections were complete. That done, everyone finally dismounted.

Some of the Legionnaires were directed towards a few of the perimeter towers; their CEO and a VIP were on the ground, so the added security was deemed necessary. A few others would be tasked to unloading what few supplies they had managed to cart out to the waiting Red Cross staff and Legionnaires; ammo and a pair of Mk14 rifles and a shotgun.

For the Red Cross staff, there were some fresh medical supplies. Not nearly enough to meet their needs, but it was all they could spare for the camp until the airport was reopened and the Legion could start bringing in more supplies. Some food was also unloaded. There would soon be crews on the road driving the dangerous route from Morocco to Sierra Leone in a convoy of transport trucks guarded by Panhards. They would not arrive for ten days at the earliest.

Jacques returned the salute of the ranking officer of the camp, Lt Aaron Kamenashi, a seasoned Moroccan soldier that had joined the Legion only two years prior. "Sir. It is good to see friendly faces. We were visited by some Temne 'soldiers' this morning who were very interested in searching the camp for persons of interest. Cost my watch and wedding ring."
There was little doubt as to how that would have played out had Lt Kamenashi had let them in.

Jacques nodded in understanding and tugged back his sleeve, pulling free a watch he had won in a poker game some years ago the day the previous CEO had died in Nigeria, then took the Moroccan man's hand and slapped the watch in his palm, "My men need watches, Lieutenant. Timings are very important."
He smiled without hesitation; his men had done well, even as isolated as they were.

"Th...thank you, Sir."
He knew not to refuse Jacques' gift. It wasn't simply to replace the man's lost watch. It would likely end up being used as a bribe to help keep violence at bay in the future. He saluted to Jacques again then turned to Natalie next, "Ma'am, your people have set up office in this building over here. Houses the mess and clinic."

Bas pulled his vintage 2020 cherry red Camaro up to the club. He was pretty pleased with it. Had that big muscle car look that he loved, all beefy and heavy in the front, like a panther or leopard ready to pounce. That generation 5 look was unlike anything else. Lot'sa the other guys went for the new stuff with their more futuristic sleeker thin lines and lights and colors. But he liked the old look. Seemed classy to him. Hardcore too.

Once the engine shut off, the sounds of music were audible coming from the club. It wasn't too loud, though, which was good. They'd be able to talk to people. A few people hung around the door smoking and chatting and firtling. He pulled the collar of his jacket up and opened his door. "This is a pretty cool place. In the day time this it's more tame. It's not really a club. More of a lounge bar and junk. There's some dancing, but it's not all people come here for."
He grinned. "Lotsa cute girls out though. Girls night out, bachelorette parties, stuff like that. And where there are girls, there are douchey guys."
He laughed. "Hey, we're here aren't we?"


They exited the car and made their way to the entrance. The guy at the front looked at him and just nodded him in. He had a bit of a rep here, especially since he joined the Mordvinovs, which suited him just fine. Once inside, the music was louder and there were spheres of light breaking up the ambient darkness. Sounds of laughter and talking hummed, while smells of food and drink and hints of perfume and cologne touched the air. It felt like home. He nodded to one of the tables along the wall. Instead of there being chairs, there were plush couches. From there they'd be able to take in the room and see what they could see.

The server girl came over- a leggy thing that probably thought she looked like a model, though was far too thin for his taste. He liked his women to look like women, not barely slightly curvy boys. What'd they call it? Heroin chic? Pretty face though.- and he ordered a bottle of chilled vodka and a lemon rimmed glass with a platinum icer in it. It would keep the drink chilled without diluting the pure flavor. She turned to Nox for his order while he surveyed the club and also kept an eye out for the Weasel.

There were all kinds of gyms in Moscow - the frufru kind where all the guys and gals wore spandex to show off their bulging muscles and preach their yoga and Mediterranean diets, the ones that all the rich folks flocked to because of the high prices and private classes. Nox didn't really care but if he was going to get his body back in to whatever shape it had been pre-plane crash he had to do it his way, and there was no spandex or private classes in his way. It was about the fight.

His search for the girl was non-existent, he had no clue where she was, who she was or even how to go about finding her. That nagged at him too, like it wasn't his job to do that, that he'd relied on someone else to do the grunt work while he did whatever it was he did. The incoming paychecks were weird, he did nothing, had no idea what he was supposed to do, but yet they kept on coming in. He wasn't dead so maybe he hailed from some rich pansy family. He doubted it. He didn't feel like some rich pansy.

So it was to the gym Nox went. Gracie's Gym, it was a host of MMA fighters. The place looked like crap on the outside, but inside, it was what you expected to see. A corner for free weights, mirrors along one wall, posters of varying ages. Punching bags and the main attraction two rings. It was filled with men and a few scattered women. Nox appreciated the view. But the view was soon blocked by a large man with a smile. Nox grinned back.

"Looking for a good place to just retest my skills."
Nox glanced around. "Before you go asking. I don't know what I know or what I've trained in. I just know I have, I feel it."


The other man didn't ask but the question was written all over his face. So Nox obliged. "Plane crash - amnesia. Barely know my own name. Go figure. So I'd like to just see how it goes, see if this feeling is right."


He nodded towards the wall. "Rates on the wall. Changing in the back. I'm sure someone will gladly let you test your skills on them.

Nox nodded. Paid the bill, daily rate, he might piss someone off and he didn't want a commitment anyway.

Nox watched two guys spar in the ring. It felt familiar, but for now he'd just watch and gauge and maybe take winner, if there was a winner. You never could tell in a joint like this.


Edited by Nox, Sep 23 2014, 12:11 PM.