It Puts the Stories on the Forum

[23rd]

@lumitwilight, I would appreciate it if you edited out the entirety of the story from your quote and just included the title.

[23rd]

Cool Blue Reason, A.K.A another tribute to Cake

 

Cool blue reason, empties on the page

Your colleagues are in prison, and your enemies enraged

 

Things weren't going well for Jack Carter, and it was becoming increasingly clear that he couldn't support himself just off his art any longer. The bills were killing him, and he'd been trying to help his brother out with the debts that had been amassed since William came to America. George T. Witherstone.. Jack clenched his fingers around the slip of paper in his hand, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it at the wall of his study. The terrible spelling and crude demands, demanding money in eight hours.. William had gotten mixed up with a loanshark, there was no other explanation. Jack loved his brother, but he couldn't help but grunt in frustration. The rotary phone on his desk rang.

 

Cool blue reason, comes into your world

There's two more dead in Texas, and it's probably your girls

Cool blue reason, wraps around your throat

The minutes change like seasons, only eight more hours to go

Only eight more hours to go. only eight more hours left to go

 

The phone hit the desk hard when it dropped. Jack had to steady his quivering lip, had to lean forward and rest his hands against his desk. His legs felt like jelly, and he thought he was about to vomit. Dead.. in Texas. William was in Texas. He should have protected them, should have stopped Witherstone's thugs. Jack needed his coat, he needed to get out of the house. Needed to get to Texas. He finally found the strength to move and was about to head for the door of his study when the threatening, raspy voice on the other end began to scream through the receiver, as though it knew it was the only way Jack would hear it.

 

Cool blue reason, comes into your life

There's one more dead in Kansas. and it's probably your wife

Cool blue reason, I'm just talking to myself

Cool blue reason, I'm just rearranging hell

I'm just talking to myself, I'm just talking to myself

Oh no, oh yeah

 

That was it, that was what it took. Jack's fist flew into the drywall, plaster coating his knuckles. Clenched fingers were red and swollen as he flung the door to his study open, doorknob almost ripping off the hinges from the pure force he put behind the effort. He stormed out of the house, sun burning the back of his neck as he got into his car. Texas.. Kansas.. Texas.. Kansas. His eyes clenched shut, struggling to decide. He thought about his family, thought about the sudden pit he found himself in.. then remembered the return address on Witherstone's letter. Tires squealed and rubber burned as Jack roared out of his driveway. He was going to New York City.

 

---

 

Edited January 5, 2014 by 23rd

[23rd]

23rd's Zombie Bonanza

Chapter 7: The Ash Williams Solution

 

His wife had left him long ago, said she couldn't handle what he'd become. That was fair, he supposed. Logically, it made sense. He had become tough to live with. Emotionally? Well, when he listened to his emotional reactions, she was entirely in the wrong for walking out. She should have expected him to be hard to live with, any man would be after what happened. He'd stopped shaving, didn't really bother with grooming. Sandy blonde hair was a ragged mess, and his sleep had gone straight to hell. Every time he looked in the mirror he saw the deep purple bags under his eyes, cataracts red and seemingly swollen. He never came out of his room, and he never stopped messing around with that coach gun. Oiling it, checking the trigger, making sure it was in tip-top shape. He'd never even fired the thing once, but he still kept it nearby.

 

"What are you going to do with that? It's not going to bring anyone back, all you're ever going to end up doing with that thing is blow your brains out!" It was less than a week after that fight that she'd left. She'd packed in the middle of the night, didn't even leave a note. For months after that the only reality he knew was in a bottle of scotch. If Alcoholics Anonymous had been founded twenty years earlier maybe he could have gotten some help, but it was the 1910s and nobody noticed the signs. Lack of sleep, sudden introversion, spontaneous interest in the morbid.. it all pointed towards one ultimate conclusion.

 

Fortunately, he was interrupted that night.

 

Outside, in the parlor, something crashed to the floor. Slowly, carefully, he got up and readied his shotgun. He moved slowly, painfully slowly, he had been reckless with his life but he wasn't so stupid as to let it end because of some punk robber breaking into his house. It wasn't some punk robber, though. It was something much worse.

 

The intruder let out an unholy wail, her arm had broken in half when she'd been violently flung through the portal, into his table. He could see the bone of her arm jutting through the gash, and it was sickening. Yet.. it didn't slow her in the least. He found himself paralyzed with fear, unable to pull back the trigger and put this gray-haired monster in the ground. It would have been over right then and there, Wickerbottom would have sunk her teeth into him and brought the infection to industrial America if it wasn't for one unexpected factor. One glorious unexpected factor named Wendy.

 

Wendy tackled the lurching zombie to the floor, pushing its face against the rug as she struggled to keep it away from her. "Shoot it, shoot it now!" He found his breath again, suddenly able to move. He aimed the barrel of his shotgun carefully for Wickerbottom's head.. he only had one round of buckshot, it was critical that he make this shot. Steadying the shaking of his fingers, ignoring the voices in his head scrambling to make sense of the situation.. he pulled the trigger. The rotten flesh and brain matter wouldn't be coming out of his carpet anytime soon, but that was the least of his worries. Wendy got up from the floor, running over to leap into him. Her arms squeezed him tight, ratty shoes dangling inches from the blood-caked carpet. "Oh God Dad.. I missed you so much!"

 

For the first time in months Jack Carter smiled, dropping the empty firearm to the floor and caressing Wendy adoringly. He wiped the pouring tears from her eyes, planting a kiss on her forehead. "You've got a lot to tell me about honey." With his free hand, he plucked the flower-decal lighter that hung from her skirt by a strap made of dried grass. "Let's start with where you got one of these."

 

---

 

Wow, that zombie story really wound up stretching itself out.

Edited January 6, 2014 by 23rd

[23rd]

Trapped in New York

 

Arranging those pieces had been a mistake. Willow had been so excited to escape that unforgiving, unnatural wilderness that she'd forgotten why she wound up there in the first place. She was back in New York, sleeping in alleys and fighting stray cats for food. That was bad enough, the looks only made it worse. She didn't know how, but they knew. Knew who she was, knew what she was.. knew the fire that had killed the corporate giant not so long ago was her fault. She'd never expected someone to kidnap her, though.

 

They came in the middle of the night, must have assumed she would be asleep. She wasn't, though. She had been nursing a garbage fire, taking what comfort she could in the dying flames when someone came out of the darkness with a knife. They should have come with a gun, maybe they would have actually intimidated her. She leaped forward, grabbing her attacker and throwing him against the brick wall of the alley. She bit, she scratched, she clawed. Willow found it pretty funny actually, the way her attacker whimpered and sobbed, begging her to stop. He'd curled up in the fetal position at her feet, and she pulled her lighter from the old coat she'd found days earlier, a wicked grin on her face. She was the sort of person who reveled in returning the gunfire tenfold, but she didn't get the chance. There was a second attacker, one she never got the chance to see. A bottle cracked over the back of her head, and her vision faded out.

 

-

 

"Ms.. Orr?" That wasn't her name.. where the hell was she? Eyes opened wearily, a throbbing pain in the back of her head. White, white everywhere. A white bed, white walls, white drapes where the white sunlight shone through against the white linoleum floors. Where the hell was she?! "Your brothers came in and said you've been hallucinating and raving about some.. well, it says "shadow creatures." Don't worry Ms. Orr, you'll get the best possible care here." Whoever was talking managed to fit more sardonic tone in that one word than Willow had thought was possible. Finally she got a good look at him, a forty something pale-skinned orderly. Was she.. in an institution? She'd been knocked out and brought into an institution?! This was worse than the alley! She tried to get up, only to feel leather straps around her wrists and ankles yank her back into the uncomfortable cot she was strapped against. "I'm sorry Ms. Orr, but we have to keep you constrained for your own protection."

 

Willow grumbled under her breath, defeated. She let her gaze drift off to the doorway of the tiny room she found herself trapped in, preferring to stare at the wall beyond than to the pudgy loser who was trying to tell her about whatever damned medication or therapies she was going to be put through her.

 

Then it moved.

 

It was subtle at first, and it could easily have been mistaken for the sun reflecting off the wall. Maybe that was the point, at least until its body started turning black. It took up the whole doorway, almost looked like a man. It couldn't be a man though, not the way it moved and swayed. Whatever it was, it stared at her for what felt like an eternity and a half.. then one wispy gray eye closed in a wink and it was gone, the spot where it had been white and empty once again. "Ms Orr, is everything alright? Are you seeing the hallucinations right now?"

 

She should have never come back to New York.

Edited January 6, 2014 by 23rd

[23rd]

Higgsbury's Monster

 

The people of their small town warned Wilfred not to talk to the "hermit man", that was what they called the scientist who lived on a hill near the outskirts of town. His parents regularly spun stories about the man, talking about how what he claimed was science was just evil in disguise. When Wilfred was just a little kid he believed all of it, but as he grew older he became a lot more skeptical about the outlandish stories he heard. After a while Wilfred was chalking up everything they said, everything everyone said, to the religious zealotry of the small town getting the best of everyone. Thus it was only natural that when Wilfred found that flyer for a lab assistant he'd be driving out into the woods beyond his small town, ignorant of what awaited him out where nobody would be able to save him.

 

-

 

"Are you here for the job?" When Wilfred stepped into the small shack the first thing he noticed was the thick smell of oil and coffee. He couldn't help but wrinkle his noise, unable to mask the discomfort in his voice as he responded. "Y- yeah.. the flyer said you needed a lab assistant?" At the far end of the cramped little shack Wilfred's employer perked up, tossing the newsprint he had been reading to the wooden floor. Wilfred had to admit, he saw why people thought the man wasn't all there. The unkempt stubble, emaciated frame, bizarre style of hair.. he looked like he'd come straight from one of Mary Shelley's novel, Wilfred had to bite his tongue to keep from accidentally calling the scientist Victor. "Wilson P. Higgsbury! Nice to finally have someone to come up here. You'll be helping me work on something in the basement.. what's your name?" "Wilfred, sir." "Yes, Wilfred, come along now."

 

"Tell me Wilfred, have you ever considered what it would be like to be.. immortal?" Wilfred pulled his focus away from the dank interior of the basement stairwell for as long as his attention would allow. Immortal? Well, sure, when he was just a teenager trying to make money from odd jobs around town he'd considered the thought of living forever. It seemed to be a common enough fantasy. "Sure, I suppose. Who doesn't want to live forever?" A wild smile spread across Wilson's face as he fiddled with the lock on a large wooden door at the base of the stairs, pushing it open to reveal a dimly lit cavern of a room where he kept all his side-experiments. "Fantastic answer, Wilfred! You see, I believe I may have discovered a way to transmute a human conscience into a shell that is exponentially more durable and long lasting than our weak, fleshy bodies. I'd like to use you to test this. Just imagine, Wilfred, you'd be the first person to experience a scientific breakthrough that could change the course of human history!"

 

The lights flickered in the cavernous basement, before the entire room was suddenly flooded in bright light. It was nothing if not an impressive setup. Clunky machines lined the walls, some churning out sheets of dotted paper while others buzzed and hummed with crackling currents of blue electricity through translucent tubes winding through them like veins on a beast. Wilfred's intrigue just barely overrode his discomfort, and he made his way to the center of the room. Two slabs, both with metal cuffs meant to hold a person in place while God-knows-what was done to them. The right slab, empty; it was more than likely he had to lay down there. The left slab..

 

"WX-78?" Wilson looked up from the clipboard he held, addressing the inquiry as though it were the most uninteresting thing in the world. "Yes.. a serial number. I made others that I had to scrap, I've got to keep track of my progress somehow. On the slab please, Wilfred." Wilfred stared at the copper shell in front of him, running his right fingertips along the chest of this humanoid chassis. It looked so human-like, but at the same time so.. mechanical. Was this the vessel he was going to be inside of? The voice of his parents rang out in his head once again, screaming about "the evils that man tempts" and "unholy things that shouldn't be." He shook his head violently, as though to shake the thoughts away, and climbed onto the empty slab in front of him. After long enough the idle whirr of the machines and the soothing scratching of Wilson's pencil against paper made Wilfred drift off, asleep and unmoving.

 

-

 

God damn, everything felt heavy. Eyes still closed, Wilfred tried to rub his forehead, then stopped. That didn't feel right. Eyes shot open, and he realized he was looking at short, orange fingers. A lifeless, immobile body lay next to him. His body. He would have been sick if he had a stomach.. or if he had felt disgusted. Why didn't he feel disgusted? ..why didn't he feel anything? "Wilfred? Wilfred, how do you feel?" He didn't feel at all, that's what he wanted to say. But, when he looked up and saw the innately curious expression Wilson P. Higgsbury wore on his face he suddenly did feel something.

 

He felt hate.

Edited January 7, 2014 by 23rd

[the truthseeker]

Minor thing:

 

 Was this the vassal he was going to be inside of?

 

 

Unless you meant for him to possess a medieval citizen, I think you meant vessel. 

 

And since when did that empathy chip start working for hate?

Edited January 7, 2014 by the truthseeker

[23rd]

Unless you meant for him to possess a medieval citizen, I think you meant vessel. 

Curse my extensive library of medieval games! I hear them both all the time, it's too easy to get them confused.

 

 

And since when did that empathy chip start working for hate? 

Honestly, I think that thing's a little dysfunctional when it comes to its dysfunction. WX-78 likes bees, after all!

Edited January 7, 2014 by 23rd

[the truthseeker]

Curse my extensive library of medieval games! I hear them both all the time, it's too easy to get them confused.

 

 

Honestly, I think that thing's a little dysfunctional when it comes to its dysfunction. WX-78 likes bees, after all!

But does he FEEL he likes bees...destroying all humans...ahh good times. 

[TRENTOMINOUS]

Still good story's. 10/10 would buy

[JeMiChi]

 

Memories?

 

"...He hadn't even noticed the three of them sitting in the back of the theater, it was like they'd just appeared. The smile widened on Williams face when he recognized the little girl pulling away from her family, blonde hair bouncing as she trotted up to the stage."

 

 

When I read those words, I got a really bad feeling that I was about to know what happened to Abigail. >_<

And I got what I thought..! Except, that it may have just been another nightmare of poor old Maxwell. "He was too far gone to remember the truth about his past, just what They showed him."

That quote, and the title... I must say, that this was very well played from your part, 23rd! The surprising endings, and unexpected plot-twists are something that I really love about your stories! Impressive!

 

 

Higgsbury's Monster

 

 

This surprised me too! Even though it would certainly explain many things!!! Very good, I really enjoyed it!

Now that he got "tricked" once already, I wonder how does WX-78 end up in Maxwell's world. Didn't he learn his lesson for getting reclessly involved with suspicious people..? Oh, but that could just be the reason!

[the truthseeker]

When I read those words, I got a really bad feeling that I was about to know what happened to Abigail. >_<

And I got what I thought..! Except, that it may have just been another nightmare of poor old Maxwell. "He was too far gone to remember the truth about his past, just what They showed him."

That quote, and the title... I must say, that this was very well played from your part, 23rd! The surprising endings, and unexpected plot-twists are something that I really love about your stories! Impressive!

 

 

This surprised me too! Even though it would certainly explain many things!!! Very good, I really enjoyed it!

Now that he got "tricked" once already, I wonder how does WX-78 end up in Maxwell's world. Didn't he learn his lesson for getting reclessly involved with suspicious people..? Oh, but that could just be the reason!

If Wilson was the reason for WX-78 this way, can you BLAME him for wanting to "kill all humans?"

[23rd]

When I read those words, I got a really bad feeling that I was about to know what happened to Abigail. >_<

And I got what I thought..! Except, that it may have just been another nightmare of poor old Maxwell. "He was too far gone to remember the truth about his past, just what They showed him."

That quote, and the title... I must say, that this was very well played from your part, 23rd! The surprising endings, and unexpected plot-twists are something that I really love about your stories! Impressive!

 

 

This surprised me too! Even though it would certainly explain many things!!! Very good, I really enjoyed it!

Now that he got "tricked" once already, I wonder how does WX-78 end up in Maxwell's world. Didn't he learn his lesson for getting reclessly involved with suspicious people..? Oh, but that could just be the reason!

Damn I love your reviews, whenever I get a notification that says "JeMiChi replied to It Puts The Stories On The Forums" my face just lights up. I have a flu, my eyes feel like they're going to melt out of my head, and I haven't felt this exhausted since that one time I decided a triathlon would be a good way to get in shape; you still made it so I have to take the time to write this next story.

 

Higgsbury's Monster

Part 2: The Mechanical Prometheus

 

"Over there, with the rest of them. Good. Keep up the good work and I can see about getting you something to polish your chassis from the drugstore in town, WX-78." He wasn't Wilfred anymore. He hadn't been Wilfred in months. Not a day went by that Wilson wasn't burying his identity, destroying it. He'd effectively been made a slave. There was no way WX-78 could go back to his old life, to his old family. Not like this. In the moment it had all seemed so tempting. Power, immortality.. the things mortal men only dream about. It didn't take long for him to realize that the price it had come with was far too much. Him.. he wasn't a him anymore. He was an it.

 

WX-78 poked a pudgy metal finger into the snout of the white mouse he was carrying. If it had still been Wilfred, still felt, it would find the whole thing quite comical. A mysterious man Wilson knew nothing about promising him untold secrets if he just helped with one little experiment? It didn't have to think too hard to find something familiar about that situation. Still, WX-78 didn't find it funny. Just macabre.. sad, even. It tied the mouse together with several others, laying them on the table as Wilson cut his thumb in the corner. Bloodletting, another of the things it could never experience again. Well, it didn't exactly miss bleeding, but every reminder of what it had become was painful nonetheless.

 

"Excellent! Now throw the switch." There was that voice again. Even through the hazy static WX-78 could hear the trepidation in the man's voice. Like the tone a man had just before he reeled in the biggest catch of his life. Like that damned tone Wilson had the first week after Wilfred's conscious had been transferred.. why wasn't anything happening? Curiously, it looked to see its master stalling in front of the door. Meek, uncertain, like he was just beginning to realize what WX-78 had known about the voice on the other end of that radio all along.

 

"DO IT!"

 

What a weak willed fleshling. That was all it took to make Wilson obey? Pathetic. Watching the look of horror on Wilson's face was all too satisfying as the shadows rose from the floor, entrapping him. There was no time for screams as thin, monstrous hands covered his mouth, pulling him down into the floorboards. Finally, WX-78 would be rid of his sadistic master.

 

..wait. This wasn't satisfying. This wasn't satisfying at all. If Wilson was going to get his comeuppance, it had to be in the unforgiving grasp of its cold metal fists. Hate overtook its chassis again, joints heating as it stepped forward and grabbed onto the switch of the mechanical door at the end of the room. With one yank the thing came clean off, and it was about to bludgeon a horrified Wilson's skull in when it happened.

 

It should have known that was a bad idea.

 

Thunder crackled in the distance, papers flew around the room. Mice chewed through their constrains, running loose in the mad chaos. Everything was going dark.. going black.. then everything went quiet. For what felt like an eternity it couldn't see anything, then the sun rose over the horizon. It wasn't in the shack anymore, it wasn't even near the hillside anymore. A vast expanse of grass stretched in front of it, bunnies with the horns of deer skittering about in search of food. Evergreens swayed in the distance, and feet away saplings and large tufts of grass sprouted from the ground. Strangest of all, Wilson was nowhere to be found.

 

It was alone..

 

It still hated. 

 

---

 

The REAL tragedy is that WX-78 and Wilson don't canonically know each other. Damn Meat Effigy quote.

Edited January 7, 2014 by 23rd

[DeadpanQuinkan]

If Wilson was the reason for WX-78 this way, can you BLAME him for wanting to "kill all humans?"

Seems more like a reason for him to just want to kill Wilson.  However the factors of time, possible corruption, and insanity would probably broaden his murderous scope.

[JeMiChi]

Damn I love your reviews, whenever I get a notification that says "JeMiChi replied to It Puts The Stories On The Forums" my face just lights up. I have a flu, my eyes feel like they're going to melt out of my head, and I haven't felt this exhausted since that one time I decided a triathlon would be a good way to get in shape; you still made it so I have to take the time to write this next story.

 

Higgsbury's Monster

Part 2: The Mechanical Prometheus

 

Awww, that's a really nice thing to say! *hugs*

I hope you feel better soon! You did a great job with the story, so get some well deserved rest now!

 

I really enjoyed this second part as well. It was interesting to follow those familiar events from a completely different point of view.

Also, these stories are making me more and more interested about WX-78..! Some food of thought for me at least. ^^

[23rd]

Awww, that's a really nice thing to say! *hugs*

I hope you feel better soon! You did a great job with the story, so get some well deserved rest now!

 

I really enjoyed this second part as well. It was interesting to follow those familiar events from a completely different point of view.

Also, these stories are making me more and more interested about WX-78..! Some food of thought for me at least. ^^

Play him, get crazy with the cheez whiz quotes! I bet they'll be way more interesting if you think of it as Wilfred saying them. I can't stop referencing songs. I really am sick.

[the truthseeker]

Play him, get crazy with the cheez whiz quotes! I bet they'll be way more interesting if you think of it as Wilfred saying them. I can't stop referencing songs. I really am sick.

I suffer from that musical thing too as you all know, but thanks for the awesome stories 23rd!

I'm glad you get your inspiration from wherever it comes, especially when it's from one of us specifically sometimes

 

(Well, maybe not the poop one )  

[23rd]

(Well, maybe not the poop one )  

The poop story was inspired by poop. Once I've actually played it enough to know the separate agents and Corporate well enough, expect some Incognita stories too.

Edited January 9, 2014 by 23rd

[23rd]

As promised, here's an Incognita story.

 

Misdirection

 

Team GO Squad was having way too much fun at the Obake Drone Line. Shalem in particular had to have triggered sound bugs at least three times by now, and the alarm was raising at a rapid rate. Enforcers were gearing up, polishing their guns, putting their boots on the ground as they slowly began to realize which floor their little nuisance was on. Decker had to do something to stop it, or his fellow agents would end up being Swiss cheese pretty soon. That's why he was in the security room of the parking garage below the complex, keeping an eye on the preparing Enforcers from where he couldn't be seen. Quieter than a mouse, Decker's fingers typed out a message on the dull blue monitor in front of him.

 

TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE. I WILL THROW THEM OFF YOUR TRAIL.

 

He couldn't risk signing his name, or anything that would give him away. Team GO Squad might close the message and ignore it, just to be staring down four machine guns before they could get out. The thought worried Decker, even if he didn't show it he cared about getting Red and Shalem out of there alive. Damn it, why weren't they responding? Where were th- He didn't get a chance to finish his thought before something flashed on the screen in blocky black letters.

 

2ND FLOOR, MANUFACTURING SECTION. -11

 

Shalem you glorious bastard. Decker couldn't help but shake his head and smile at the signature. Shalem was always the tough one out of all of them, that signature was probably meant to be an act of intimidation in case the person on the other end was malicious. 2nd floor.. looks like Decker would be going to the 1st.

 

-

 

When Julius had become an enforcer he expected a fare share more action than the rent-a-cops that he had to come in and help far too often, that's a given. What he didn't expect was to be living inside of a goddamn ghost story. The lights in the overhead parking garage flickered out spontaneously, and the air just got colder. One of his partners mumbled out something about the power circuits being messed with, but Julius knew it was a ghost!

 

He couldn't have been disproven any harder.

 

Something slumped against his shoulder, weight pressing down. He realized it was one of his three squadmates. In the sudden panic it took Julius a moment to realize his partner was merely passed out, not dead. It still freaked him out, but before he could let out a yelp one of his remaining partners shouted out. "Hey! Stop right there!" A man stood at the far end of the parking garage, brandishing a dart gun and ducking into a nearby elevator. The doors shut before any of them could get there in time, the 1st floor indicator lighting up brighter than ever in the darkened parking garage. "Should've just shot him.."

 

-

 

Decker stepped out onto the 1st floor, ear to the wall. He could hear their combat boots pounding the stairs below, scrambling to get to him. In all the excitement they'd completely forgotten about Team GO Squad, he was sure of it. A sly smile became Decker's dominating feature as he made his way over towards a nearby console, hunching over the keyboard as he scrawled out a quick message.

 

GOOD LUCK. I WILL SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE.

Edited January 9, 2014 by 23rd

[the truthseeker]

Team GO Squad

Stupid series with that name has ruined the merging of the words Team and Go for me.

 

But awesome story! 

[HoneyHam]

Stupid series with that name has ruined the merging of the words Team and Go for me.

 

But awesome story! 

Hey, that show was awesome.

Then they re-made it and it became one of the most retarded shows ever to exist.

Well, that may be exaggerating a little. I'm sure there's other shows that are worse.

[23rd]

Hey, that show was awesome.

Then they re-made it and it became one of the most retarded shows ever to exist.

Well, that may be exaggerating a little. I'm sure there's other shows that are worse.

I enjoyed the original animated series, but the way it was ended really got under my skin. The final episode pissed me off a lot when they deflected questions about Terra by saying the episode was just about Beast Boy growing up. They could have done that in a much better way than bringing Terra back, I'm just thankful that there's a logical fanon explanation. An explanation the creators themselves never bothered to hint towards, instead leaving the big mystery that was Terra's reappearance up in the air.

Edited January 9, 2014 by 23rd

[TRENTOMINOUS]

Stupid series with that name has ruined the merging of the words Team and Go for me.

But awesome story!

Amen. May the god of fans of teen titans bless your soil.

[the truthseeker]

Hey, that show was awesome.

Then they re-made it and it became one of the most retarded shows ever to exist.

Well, that may be exaggerating a little. I'm sure there's other shows that are worse.

I'm REFERRING to the likely-most-retarded-show-in-history version here. Check my previous quote's link. 

[23rd]

Getting My Due

Chapter 1: California

 

"The lack of money is the root of all evil."

-Mark Twain

 

My name is George T. Witherstone. I'm a businessman, I give people loans and they pay me back extra. Sometimes, they try to get away without paying me back. Then I have to pay them a visit, and show them why it's in their best interest to take better care of their finances and pay off their debts. You would be amazed how many people think they can take money from me and just never pay it back! That's why one of my loyal employees is beating down Jack Carter's front door with an axe. Hey, sometimes this business can get messy.

 

"What the hell is your problem?!" Oh, this must be him. Hair color's different from Willy.. but I guess I can see the resemblance. I take the time to adjust my tie before talking through the splintered hole in the front door. "Mr. Carter, can I call you Jack?" He seems absolutely livid, I love it when they get that look on their faces. "Great. Jack.. your brother owes me quite a bit of money. Now, I suggest you tell me where he is before my associate here.." I slap my henchman on the back once to draw attention to his presence. Burly, stupid, but certainly intimidating with the sharp axe in his hand. I should really learn his name one of these days. "..has to get an answer from you. I assure you, Jack, he's not nearly as polite as I am."

 

The look on Jack's face suddenly shifts from rage to something I can't quite recognize as the sound of tiny feet running about behind him drift out towards the front yard. I didn't know he had children. Now that's leverage! I'll go for a random shot in the dark, it's certainly worked before, and when it works it sure works well!

 

"Twins? I'm guessing they're pretty young. It must be magical, being a child. It's been so long that I've forgotten myself."

 

Ooh, Jackpot (heheh). That seemed to really strike a nerve. He's fidgeting now, reaching for the knob to open the door and step outside. I've got to wonder what the point is, that hole in the front is big enough to climb through!

 

"Look, I haven't seen him since we lived together in London, years ago. But.. well, he sent me this letter a while ago. You can have it, maybe it'll help you find him. Just don't come around here again.. ever."

 

Jack slams the door behind him after handing me the letter. I can't help but take a moment to watch the splinters at the ridges of the hole shake and fall while Jack storms down his clearly visible hallway, disappearing around a corner in a huff. Tuesdays are the best. Now, this letter, let's take a look..

 

Jack,

 

The strangest thing has happened! Please discount all reports of my demise, should they reach you. I am very much alive, despite my misadventure. I have discovered something, a book of sorts I have yet to decode it fully, but what little I have deciphered has opened my mind to tempting new possibilities. I shan't say more through post - I fear it may attract unwanted attention. (Haha, you've got no idea Willy-boy.) All will be explained when we meet. I shall continue west forth with! -William

 

Postmarked Nevada. Wait.. what's this? Is this.. a train ticket, hidden under the letter?

 

SUNSET LINES

NEW YORK (GRAND CENTRAL) TO:

San Francisco - Mission Stn. (Exc'nge)

Date: August 15th, 1904

 

I always wanted to visit San Francisco.

Edited January 10, 2014 by 23rd

[23rd]

Getting My Due

Chapter 2: He's Different Now

 

"When a person has a gun, sometimes their mind clicks that this thing will win arguments and straighten people out."

-Bill Cosby

 

I can't help but grin at this poster. MAXWELL the GREAT! And that's it. No flavor text of any sort, he's choosing to let these adventurous visuals do the talking. It's a good way of hiding himself in plain sight, this is certainly different from what his show posters used to look like. Interesting choice of name too: Maxwell. What's that supposed to be, a reference to Maxwell's demon? Kind of clever, I didn't know Willy had that scientific streak to him. Well, better get ready to crash this shindig.

 

Suit? Check. Award winning smile? Check. My Colt Model 1903 Pocket Hammerless? Check-a-roony. Only a year old, this sweet thing is going to cause so much damage. I bet tons of infamous.. ehem.. "businessmen" are going to make this beauty a recognizable name. Well, right after I do, that is. I'm going to get that money, or someone's going to learn that it feels like to have a .32 shot into their knee. I'm tired of playing games.

 

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, for my next trick.." Looks like I caught him in the middle of an act. Great. My fingers run along the ridges of my pistol, yanking it from my pocket in one smooth motion. It takes people a moment to notice the silver gleam, but when they do, oh boy do they NOTICE it! Time to address my audience. "Alright, folks, sit down and shut up. Once Willy-boy here gives me what's mine, I'll be out of your hair and nobody has to get shot." People of this era are so obedient, I sure hope that never changes. Nervous glances, some broad crying near the back, but no resistance. Love it, just love it! But Willy, oh Willy, why must you continue to piss me off? You're not even going to act like I spooked you, just a little? Come on now. Here I am walking up towards you, brandishing a gun, and you don't even have the common courtesy to put down your stupid book full of tricks.

 

"..for my next trick, I'm going to make Mr. Witherstone disappear." Oh that seals it, someone's getting shot. I throw my arm out, make sure I'm aiming at someone, and squeeze the trigger without a second thought. ..well, second time's the charm. ..okay, what's wrong with this thing? It's brand new damn it! Now people in the audience are laughing, they think this is some sort of joke! I'm just about ready to strangle Willy to death with my own hands when I notice something. The end of my gun.. it's covered in something black. Suddenly, that black thing drips off the end, and disappears entirely. That's when the bullets decide to come out, when I'm aiming at nothing at all in confusion. The recoil causes me to stumble as the entire magazine is emptied into the air, next thing I know I'm falling off the stage, onto my ass. The laughter's growing even louder. This is humiliating.

 

"Don't come back again, Georgy-boy. Next time I won't be so nice."

 

This whole's thing blown to hell. There's no point in trying to save face, so I run. I run out of that circus, run into my car, speed away from this whole terrible experience. I don't want William Carter to give me my money anymore, I want him dead.

Edited January 10, 2014 by 23rd