Trying my hand at imaginative writing. Comment plz!

Neirai the Forgiven

Neirai the Forgiven

Christian Guilds List Manager
A Prologue


I swear to live. I swear to overcome pain, to ignore discomfort, and above all to never return to death by my own hand. -- Four Corters' ritual oath of life, given before a Lifeweaving.

A drop of water slowly dribbled down Lisce's arm, jerking to the left and to the right as it meandered over the charred, blackened flesh. It soothed the aching, burning feeling that filled his body as if it were Weaver's Dew.

Weaver's Dew! Lince's face broke into a bitter grin -- a grin so devoid of mirth that it seemed almost to be a grimace. There hasn't been a Weaver of the dews in Mach's Corter since I was a little boy. Slowly, so as not to increase the constant feeling of pain that racked his ravaged body, Lince made a fist with his right hand -- his good hand. Had a dew Weaver been present on that day, he would have had a clean body, and not a burned out shell that always remembered the pain of its dying. But only two Weavers lived in Mach's Corter, and neither of those knew the art of Weaving dew. If only more Weavers chose to live in the Corters rather than leaving for the Upperlands in search of fame. If only there were more Weavers in Mach's Corter. Then Lince's agony would be spared.

Of course, Lince thought bitterly, if there were no Weavers in Mach's Corter, then I would have never Died in the first place. Weaving always had its dangers and often had a price that must be paid. But, all too often, that price was never paid by the Weaver -- instead it would be paid by some poor sap who was in the wrong place at the wrong time: an Unraveling.

In this case it was Mriiah, the blacksmith's daughter. She had found a Loose, and the poor girl had not recognized it for what it was. Before long she had spent to long examining it -- and suddenly it had Unraveled.

Lince could not stop himself from seeing Mriiah's face in his mind at that moment. Inquisitive, soft eyes suddenly grew wide with terror as the flower she was holding burst into flame -- and bit her arm.

No, fool! Lince's angry voice sounded in his head as he made an effort to calm his thoughts, to think of something else. His body.

Lince looked at his right hand. The skin of his palm had not been charred, and he still had three fingers and a thumb. The fourth, smallest finger was still there, but it was not his own. Or rather, it was not the one that he had been born with. It was made of rock. It resembled sandstone in look and feel, but it moved as if it were made of flesh. Weaver's Dust.

His left arm, from the shoulder and down, was also made from Weaver's Dust, as was the left-hand side of his ribcage. Both of his legs from the knees to the ground were also finely crafted from the best Weaving that the old hag could produce.

It had been an honor, they had told him. For his selfless act in saving Mriiah, his broken body had been rebuilt with Weaving. But Lince was not happy. It was not the fact that he had been rebuilt by a Weaver of dust and not of dew that bothered him. It was an elusive but nagging feeling that he had been betrayed. It was hard to put a finger on why he felt betrayed, but the feeling just wouldn't go away, either.

Perhaps it was because he could not remember saying the Oath. Of course, it was not suprising that he could not remember much of that day -- not many remember the moments after they Die, their bodies destroyed and their selves waiting for a chance to leave their mangled confines and move on to the next life. But he must have said the Oath. Why else would a Weaver knit his self back into his body?

It was a gift, they had told him. A Weaver's Gift. And it was true -- the Dust that had remolded his body was one of the finest works of Weaving that he had ever seen. But, if this new body was a gift, then why did it feel like a prison?
 
Great story! I've got to say you've come up with some great plot details and characters. I'm interested in hearing more about the Weavers. And the Weavers Dust was awesome.

The story left me wanting more, as it was hard to figure everything out from the short passage. Of course, that's something to be expected from... a prologue? Can we expect more?
 
It left me wanting more too, TJ. (And nice prologue, Neirai)

But what it left me wanting, was a battle between Lince and a humongous mutated Loose that could walk. :)
 
Thanks, guys :)

I've been working out some sort of "chapter one"ish thing in my head this week. Probably I'll have it out sometime during reading week.

I specifically tried to leave out details about anything important, but I did mean to give a bit more information about Loosing. To spill the beans, if a Weaving is not done 100% properly, it leaves bits of surrealism behind it that are called "Looses." In Mriiah's case (which I plan to refer back to in, say, chapter 3,) the Loose was a flower that was warm to the touch and had a shifting red-and-orange stem. Examining a Loose is dangerous, because once one comes to the conclusion that it is impossible, it will suddenly start acting in highly surreal ways -- like bursting into flame and/or acting like an animal, or a zillion other possible crazinesses.

I actually intended to add a short flashback between "and bit her arm" and "No, fool!" that delved more into what happened.

His lungs were burning -- the air he was breathing was all in flame. Lince reached out for Mriiah but suddenly the ground beneath him seemed to swim with liquid shadows. Gathering all of his will he grasped at her arm and, bracing himself on the shifting ground, hurled her towards the open field below them. As soon as her body exitted the circle of flame, sharpened pillars of ice began to rise out of the fire, creating a frozen jail in the midst of the inferno. He was hemmed in. His eyes darted too and frow like a harried deer. From behind he heard hissing, like a serpent's, but with a strange dissonance that made it sound like the voice of a little girl.

Anyhow I don't know if I'll put that in the prologue -- it's a little too detailed (and a little too surreal) for a sneak-peak.

Thanks for the encouragement, guys :) Now I better get moving so I can head to college :)
 
Boo! College is a waste of time.

Actually I'll be honest, my whole "schooling" right now sucks. I'm at school for engineering, even though all I want to do is write.
 
Chapter 1

<Warning, Violence ensues in this chapter>

They called him Rint. He was tall, with olive skin and large, dark eyes. His black hair was cut into a myriad of small braids that stuck out just below his helmet. His body was muscled, a testament to a life of athleticism.

And he was cold. He huddled up to the wall of crates and tried to keep out of the wind. The warehouse had been gutted long ago, and so the walls did not provide an adequate windbreak.

His radio crackled softly: "Dog Alfa, report."

"Got a visual on 'em," he barked. The small group of men was just beyond the wall of crates. Six drug smugglers, clothed in dark leather and wielding a small arsenal of automatic weapons. One of them was wearing the telltale helmet-and-visor set of an electronic sound ranging devise. "Six turbans. One's a whet."

"Roger." A brief pause. "Any anomalies?"

Rint took another quick look around the side of the wall. "Doesn't look like it. This should be fairly straight-forward."

"All right. You know what to do. We'll wait for your first move."

Rint popped the rifle off of his shoulder mount and cradled it in his hands. It was a short, black, boxy thing with a clip running out of the bottom and a secondary ammo feed in the side. A small green LED with a symbol of an ear shone palely on the back of the gun. Rint pressed his gloved thumb to the LED for a few seconds. When he removed it, the LED had turned red. Not easily satisfied, Rint rapped the gun with his free hand. It made no sound.

Rint quickly snapped open the secondary ammunition feed and carefully fed in three elongated globes from his ammunition pouch. Deaf rounds. Like his HIR carbine, these rounds were equipped with a sound-disrupting field. They would strike their target without as much as a whisper.

Rint quickly -- and silently -- rolled out from behind his cover. Coming up on one knee, he aimed his rifle at the tallest of the smugglers' head. Thumbing his ammunition selector up, he squeezed his trigger. The smuggler pitched forward noiselessly, his head enveloped in a puff of red vapor. Rint changed targets and squeezed off another round. This time the bullet caught its target in the shoulder, the impact spinning him around and dropping him like an animal.

The smugglers had stood in shock for the first few seconds as two of their comrades had been excised. Now that their minds had caught on to what was going on, they suddenly burst into action. One spun towards Rint, his gun coming to bare on Rint's head. He took the third deaf round to his chest, knocking him off of his feet and onto the hard concrete. His head bounced off of the floor and he lay still. Rint made a mental note to check to see if that smuggler was still alive. He could be a useful source of information if he survived.

Rint thumbed the selector back down to standard as he dove back behind his cover. The whole reason for having deaf rounds was too capitalize on those first few seconds. After that, noiseless killing wasn't worth the extra credits that using the rounds accrued on his account.

Rint steadied himself as an explosion shook the warehouse. Charly's grenades. So much for keeping the turban alive for questioning. Rint wished that he knew how many turbans had been taken down, but with his carbine still emitting the disruption field, he would not be able to hear his radio even if he did ask for a count. He sprinted along the wall of crates, intent on climbing onto the catwalk that spanned the perimeter of the warehouse.

Gunfire erupted to Rint’s left, coming from the other side of the crates. Bullets began to rip through the boxes, missing him by less than a foot. He cursed. He'd forgotten about the whet -- the sound ranging technician. Such an error often proved fatal in his line of work. Particularly with a whet. The technician could track his movements, even with the sound-disrupting field.

Rint dropped onto his stomach and rolled away from the crates. An outside observer may have thought this to be a rather strange maneuver, but Rint knew that it would throw the whet's imaging system for a loop. Sound ranging was difficult at best, and his actions would cause the display to give off multiple, false readings. The technician would be unable to predict his movements. But that was probably the wall of crates that separated him from the whet exploded, showering him with heated bits of wood and metal. Great. Not only a whet, but a whet with a working knowledge of explosives. Rint cursed himself viciously. He should have taken the whet out with his first shot.
He blinked in surprise as the technician stepped out into the smoking hole in the crates, gun blazing. He could tell by the way the technician moved that she was obviously a woman.

Rint was an unrepentant sexist. More than any of the gruesome tasks that he was forced to do, he hated killing women. He also believed that they were soft, and therefore easier to pump for information. He flipped a small canister off of his belt and, hiding it behind his body so the woman could not see it, used his thumb to pop the metal ring off.

Rolling out of the woman's path of fire, Rint slid the canister along the concrete floor so that it came to rest at the technician's feet. The woman saw the canister on the ground and leaped away from it.

Wrong. thought Rint. It's not a grenade. The canister flashed, leaving a silhouette on Rint's eyes. The area around the canister was covered in a field of thick ice. The whet was no exception, her body encased in a giant ice cube. Rint grinned.

Just then he spied a blue flare jetting up from the other side of the warehouse. All clear. Charly and Rass must have secured the rest of the warehouse. It was just up to him to finish off the girl. Rint's hand snapped down to his leg, and he pulled a short, thick rod out of its holster, thumbing the on switch as he brought it out.

He sauntered up to the frozen woman and pressed the rod to her neck. He saw a sudden flicker of recognition flare up in her eyes as he pulled the trigger. The light of intelligence left her eyes.

Rint kicked at the switch on the canister, and almost immediately the ice turned to water. The woman's unconscious body dropped to the floor. Rint pressed the button on his rifle. Suddenly he could hear the sound of his own heavy breathing. He activated his radio. "Dog Alfa reporting. Two turbans wasted. I've got the whet."

Charly's voice seemed impressed. "You captured a whet? Not bad." A pause. "Bring him in for questioning. Head to the drop point."

Rint grinned. He couldn't let this one go. "She. The whet's a lady. Treat her with respect."

He could hear Rass chuckle in his ears as Charly sputtered. For whatever reason, Charly was never comfortable around women, especially women who were trained to kill.

Carefully, Rint picked up the woman and hoisted her over his left shoulder. He walked towards the back of the warehouse, towards the drop point. He wasn't looking forward to the debriefing -- the run had gone smoothly, but he knew that Commander Villyans would give him a tongue-lashing for letting the whet survive the first strike. The crusty officer knew a tactical flummox when he saw one, and he would already be watching a recording of the battle. Watching and re-watching. Rint groaned.

Vill will have my hide. He hoped that the whet proved to be a valuable source of information. That way, Villyans might go easy on him.

He exited through the hole that he had cut in the side of the warehouse less than an hour before. His team, explosives/espionage artist Charly “Charly” Breddins and sniper Rass “Rassberry” Commins, was waiting for him. Rass looked at the woman in Rint’s arms and whistled. “Found yourself a wife, huh?”

Rint smirked. Then he noticed a shallow gash in Rass's arm, just above the wrist. Rass saw Rint’s questioning gaze and shrugged. "Bugger had a knife. Didn't last much longer after he did that. Doc Ems'll fix it up. It's no big deal."

Rint laid the woman on the ground and shivered. "How much longer till the 'copter gets here?"
 
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<Chapter 2: Part 1>

Three days later, Rint had the first taste of his impending struggles. He had just returned from a two-day crash course on battle tactics, taught by his old nemesis, training instructor Jinn Tomas. His aching back and shoulders would serve as a reminder to make priority decisions in the heat of battle.

The man at the front desk told him that he was to report to Vill at once. As the elevator slid up the side of the WUIDF headquarters, he wondered what new information his commanding officer had for him. A brisk walk up the corridor, a nod to the security guard who examined the tattoo on his left thumb, and Rint was ready to walk through the double doors into Vill's office. He braced himself and then tried his best to appear nonchalant has he pushed open the door.

"Rint! Welcome back, son!"

Commander Robbart "Vill" Villyans was a giant of a man, with broad shoulders and a face that once had looked chiselled, but had worn with age. What that age was remained a mystery to his crew, but his hair was filled with grey streaks, so he was no spring chicken. He hated formality, and so it was no surprise to Rint that his snapped salute caused Vill's bushy eyebrows to come together in a sudden frown.

"Take your hand down, sonny. I ain't the blasted Empress."

Rint did as he was told. Vill was like a father to his men, but he also had a temper that you didn't want to be on the wrong side of. Rint grinned. "It's good to be back, sir." Vill motioned to a chair, so Rint sat down.

"You may wanna look at this, Rint." Vill passed him a thick dossier, lit a cigar, and chomped on it.

Inside the dossier was several sheets of black plastic with pictures of con's faces and brief descriptions of their names and the reasons why they were in the slammer. Rint wasn't sure what to look for -- they didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary for prison scum. "Common thugs. What am I looking at?"

Vill grunted. "They ain't just common thugs. Each of these men and women got out on parole within the last five years. A few were released as well, I guess. They didn't all just skip." Vill's disgust at the modern judicial system was well known amongst his men. "Anyhow, all of them disappeared sometime soon after. That's where the last three weeks of action comes in."

Rint blinked. "They formed some sort of a drug cartel?"

Vill shook his head. "No. They are all connected to the smugglers, but very few of them actually work with the smuggling. The men you've been taking down are all mercenaries, paid and orchestrated from behind the scenes. The best we can tell, these cons have been working as go-betweens for whoever this external source is. Everyone who's done any of the dirty work has been a merc."

"So that tells us nothing."

Vill stretched. "Not nothing, Rint. It tells us a few things. First, it tells us that something big is up. Someone has been working this plan out for the last few years, at least. They've employed all these cons as a way to cover their rear ends, but they know what they are doing. An operation like this doesn't happen over night."

Rint nodded. "So it's a big cartel then. Something like the Ni'gardy brothers? Land -- if someone's running a huge operation like that, that a huge amount of drugs." The last thought had been a half whisper. The Ni'gardy brothers' operation had spanned many continents and traficked enough drugs that when it had finally collapsed, the sudden windfall of trading had crippled the economies of six nations.

Vill frowned, chewing his bottom lip. "It could be. But we've learned something else. The drug-running is just a facade."

Vill chuckled at the look on Rint's face. "Look at this, Rint." Vill tossed him a memo from the desk. "It's an itemized list of the cargo of a smuggler vessel that we collared two nights ago."

Rint scanned the list. Drugs, drugs, expensive drugs, drugs, and-- "A cryo-tank? What kind of animals are they smuggling? Turqoise Archpoodles?"

"Heh. Worse than that, Rint. Much worse. They're smuggling Man."
 
My reaction to Chapter 1

Neirai the Forgiven said:
Rint quickly snapped open the secondary ammunition feed...

Rint quickly -- and silently -- rolled out from behind his cover.

... he carefully squeezed his trigger.

... had caught on to what was going on, they suddenly burst into action.

Rint made a mental note to check to see if that smuggler was still alive. He could be a useful source of information if he survived.

Suddenly a explosion shook the warehouse.

Suddenly he heard gunfire to his left, coming from the other side of the crates.

An outside observer may have thought this to be a rather strange maneuver, but Rint knew that it would throw the whet's imaging system for a loop.

But suddenly the wall of crates that separated him from the whet exploded, showering him with heated bits of wood and metal.

Wrong. thought Rint. It's not a grenade.

Suddenly the canister flashed, leaving a silhouette on Rint's eyes.

The area around the canister was covered in a field of thick ice. The whet was no exception, her body encased in a giant ice cube. Rint grinned.

Just then he spied a blue flare...

He saw a sudden flicker of recognition flare...

Dog Alfa reporting.

Carefully, Rint picked up the woman... Rint laid the woman on the ground and shivered. "How much longer till the 'copter gets here?"
Click to expand...

First, I've got to say you're a great writer, and I can tell you've got a great story unraveling. Most of the time, you use great visual words and paint good pictures in my head. The first kill reminded me of Rainbow Six (I was all excited). My only problem plot related is I'd like to know more. What was at the warehouse? What intelligence brought Rint there? I'm sure you touch on that in Chapter 2, but I haven't read it yet!

In your writing, I found a few things I'd like to point out. You use "sudden" quite a few times. Throughout writing my book, I discovered that it actually takes away from any "sudden" feelings. It hinders excitement. I found it's better to use action-intense verbs and descriptive words. For example, above you have "Suddenly, he heard gunfire to his left..." You might achieve the desired effect with "The chatter of gunfire stabbed his ear." (Not a real good example, but you see what I mean) You could also try synonyms like "abruptly," which worked well for me. Play around with it and see what you think sounds the best.

"Carefully" also made quite a few appearances. At some points it was needed, but others it was filler. Try synonyms, or cutting it completely.

What are the other guys code names? You could use the code name as an opportunity to dive deeper into the character. I could tell right away Rint was the leader (alfa/alpha dog/male -- I think that's what you were trying to get at). It might be cool to use a code name like "Sleeping Giant," meaning some guy is like the incredible hulk -- when he gets made he explodes into a green giant. That's a joke, but you get my point.

I really liked how you used italics to capture what Rint was thinking (I was too lazy to go through and put in all the tags :p). However, I think because you have them italicized, you don't have to put "he thought" in like you did in my big quote.

The note about the 'outside observer thinking his movements would be strange' caught me off guard and affected the flow of the piece.

The ice cube thing was brilliant.

I would suggest trying to end the chapter with a joke, as I interpreted the guys as being relaxed and casual, now that the mission was (a minute from being) over.

These are just some notes that first hit my mind. They're all just my opinion and I highly suggest you try and keep your work as original as you can. Don't change something just because I (or anyone else) suggested it. You should want to make that change, and have good reasons for it. From what I've read so far, you've got a great piece of work flowing out of your fingertips. Keep up the good work.
 
Thanks for the comments, TJ :)

I think you've hit pay dirt with my achilles heel. If I'm not watching it, I repeatedly use the same word phrases. This repeatedly gets on the reader's nerves. I repeatedly try to stop it, but I suffer the problem repeatedly.

Heh. Actually I got called on an essay for using the term "human conflict" 34 times (in a 1000 word essay :O )

I figure I'll go edit it some time today :) also, that's actually only "scene 1" of chapter two. I'm still working out how to allign chapter 2 with wrapping up all of the loose ends from chapter 1 and the prologue (yes, that is the prologue for this story.)

Thanks for the feedback, I need it in order to get the story out (and it motivates me to spend more time on it than on WoW.)
 
Yeah, video games are a real time sucker. I try to avoid them when I can (which isn't too often :p). Try to set yourself an hour block of time where you only write, or maybe a set word limit. During the course of my book, I usually had myself on a mandated 1,500 words a night (I averaged 2,500 because it was really exciting). If things get difficult, you have to keep pushing through. Take a short break and read one of your favorite books for inspiration (Ender's Game)
 
That's a built-in thing with these forums unfortunately. After a period of time you can no longer edit a post. However as the group moderator I believe I'm still able to edit it. I'll be glad to update your post if you pm the update to me. Or just post your revision and I can either delete the original post or leave it there for comparison's sake, either way you want.

Paul
 
<Chapter 2, Scene 2>

Rint hit the switch on the concrete wall. He felt weary. Blasted slave-traders. He had felt much better when he felt that WUIDF was up against a giant drug-smuggling operation. Now that he knew that the smugglers were trafficking in humans, he felt a bit sick to his stomach.

Rint gazed down the long, bleak hallway, illuminated by florescent light. A few of the tubes flickered sporadically. The WUIDF prison block was Spartan at best. He walked down the corridor towards the maximum security section. He had work to do here, but his heart wasn't in it. He wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't brought her back here.

She was standing at the glass when he closed the door to the visiting area. Her long blond hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of ripples. Her mouth was full, and her soft brown eyes were striking. It was the look in those eyes, however, that caused Rint to miss much of her considerable beauty. Her eyes had the look of a hungry Scythecat. If the glass wasn't there, she'd be here in an instant, trying to break my neck. Rint found it almost impossible to relax in her presence.

Serrie smirked at his approach. "Did you remember to bring me flowers?" Ever since their first conversation, Serrie had developed some sort of flirtatious attitude. Rint knew that she was trying to set him off guard. She was like a coiled snake waiting for the first chance to strike.

Rint growled under his breath. Serrie blinked. They had always had a cordial relationship, even though he was an assassin and she was his prisoner. She sighed. "I guess you don't love me anymore. All business, then?"

"We caught some of your buddies." Rint scowled. "I guess you aren't what we thought you were." He slowly became aware that his fists were clenched tightly, his knuckles whitening as evidence to the pressure within.

Over the last few days, he had started to believe that they actually had a lot in common. He'd found out that she was a mercenary, working for the highest bidder. Like me. But now Serrie seemed to be the furthest thing away from what Rint was. He realized that he was holding his breath, and let it out slowly.

"Slaves." The word hung in the air like a toxic vapor. He saw a moment of uncertainty in Serrie's eyes. Suddenly Rint slammed his fist into the glass between him and the woman. She didn't flinch.

"How--" Rint swallowed. "How could you traffic in slaves?" He felt the anger well up inside him. He looked at the ground, not wanting to meet her eyes. But when he did, he was shocked to see his own anger reflected in those striking eyes.

Serrie was furious. She tilted her head up, her lips pursed. When she spoke, her voice was icey. "We aren't the ones who enslaved those people. We are freeing them. They were already slaves." Rint saw a wild light in her eyes. Then suddenly the light was snuffed out as she realized that she had just said too much.

Rint took two steps back as she launched herself at the glass. It withstood her blows easily, but Rint was glad that he was on the other side of the glass. He was surprised at her vicious behavior, but he knew that she would burn down. This kind of fury was not really in her nature. She was far too calculating and efficient.

"Look." He said, roughly. "We both know what you just said. That means you know something more than what you told us." He sat down on the metal bench beside her cell. "If you really think that you are fighting against some great injustice, why don't you tell me. After all, we are agents of freedom."

Serrie rolled her eyes. Frustration was evident in her body language as she turned away from the glass.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re just as much their captor as the people who did this to them.” Serrie’s words had their desired effect – Rint snarled behind her.

“Don’t lump me in with a bunch of flesh-traders.” He ground out beneath clenched teeth. “I’ve never profited off of the back of someone else. Everything I have, everything I’ve done, it’s all been me working for myself.”

“Really? Then what about this?” Without looking at him, Serrie put her hand back flat against the glass that separated them. “And what about your gun? And the trap you hit me with?”

Rint blinked, confused. “My Thread-Tech HIR Carbine? What does my gun have to do with anything?”

Serrie turned to look at him. The flirtatious – or maybe condescending – attitude was back. “Dear, Thread-Tech are the people who have enslaved these innocents. These people are bred in specialized ‘farms’ for the purpose of forwarding Thread-Tech’s business ventures.” She turned around to lean up against the glass. “It’s not just Thread-Tech either. Diozynes Inc. and Joccab’s World Market are in on it as well. These people are their slaves, their guinea pigs.”

Rint couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up abruptly and walked over to the divider. “Do you have any proof of this—this wild accusation?”

“Only the people in the cryo-tanks in the back of my float skimmer.” Serrie watched as he turned to leave.

Rint intended to go directly to Vill and get a permit to thaw the cryo-tanks. He knew that something was up, and he needed to know what it was. If three of the greatest businesses in the world had all risen on the backs of innocents, it would mean a lot of work for WUIDF as a whole. He opened the door to leave, and he was just about to step over the threshold when she called to him. Timing me, are we? He turned and barked: “What?”

Her face was worried, and he could see from her eyes that she wasn’t feigning it. “Rint… don’t open the tanks.” She dropped her gaze. “The people inside can be very… dangerous.”

Rint felt something hard release in his chest. “Dangerous? Oh, so first they are slaves, and now they are a danger.” His voice was rough, even bitter. “Why would someone who was raised a slave be dangerous to me?” He spun on his heel and strode purposely through the door, slamming it behind him. Rage coursed through his veins. Was she playing with him? He could hear that she was protesting, muffled noises coming from behind him. He headed down the concrete hallway towards the exit, his mind filled with a jumble of thoughts. Maybe they’re not slaves. Assassins? No, that’s ridiculous. Or maybe it isn’t. He flicked off the lights as he left the prison block. Perhaps when he asked Vill for permission to thaw the tanks, he’d also ask for a detachment of armed men. You could never be too careful when dealing with the corrupt.
 
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Must... not... write... more...

Must.... work on... essay....


The next chapter will be an easier one for me, as we will be returning to the plotline glimpsed at in the prologue.

That's right, they are the same story (if you hadn't caught on yet.)

Yes, TJ, you will get to learn more about Weaving.
 
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