tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13836779904428420462023-11-15T07:30:36.933-08:00Agent A*47Follow Agent Adam Cross aka Agent A47 on his missions throughout Earth and other galaxies to protect humankind from aliens.D.C. Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00984087503049946719noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1383677990442842046.post-88332418209111948612010-11-17T18:30:00.000-08:002010-11-17T18:30:25.428-08:00You are an Agent. That is Your Purpose. That is Your Only Purpose.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You know how they say dreams awaken your repressed thoughts?” I asked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes. That is a theory,” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“For me, it’s more than a theory,” I said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“How so?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’ve been having the same recurring dream ever since Frederick died. I can never remember all of it but there’s this woman and a broken radio. She’s in trouble and I can’t help her. I want to but I just can’t.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Frederick’s death has upset you, Adam.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes, but the dreams have nothing to do with him. I feel close to that woman.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You’re making it more than it is. In time, the dreams will go away. Or, of course I can schedule you for Dead Sleep.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I rarely express my true feelings. But when I do, why are they so often brushed aside? Is it because I have questions? Is it because I think for myself? I’m supposed to be one of the strongest members of the Society but often I feel like the weakest. The others are okay with accepting the purpose given to them with no questions. It’s for The Cause and for them, that’s all the explanation that is needed. But what’s wrong with asking questions? Most of the time I repress it, but the urge to get answers is growing stronger and stronger. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dr. Peter Lithgo is my psychologist. All agents have one. The Society wants to be sure the work isn’t more than any of us can handle. If someone shows signs of mental trauma or stress or if a doctor even suspects any abnormalities, he or she is scheduled for Dead Sleep – a sleep where the brain’s activity is reduced to a dormant state for 48 hours. These sessions can be repeated indefinitely until the subject is “cured”. I will learn what these dreams mean and who that woman is. But I won’t be doing it here.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No, that won’t be necessary, Dr. Lithgo. You’re right. I’m just making it more than it is,” I said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Alright. Let’s get back to your last assignment then,” Dr. Lithgo said. “You completed the mission in 2 minutes and 53 seconds. That’s a little slow for you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“He was a Hummer. He slowed me down a little. No big deal.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes, he put up a fight which is to be expected. But what isn’t expected is this.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He clicks a remote and a video of my encounter with the alien Zine is shown. Only Zine’s image is shown since the video camera is hidden in my eye. One of few implants I, as well as every other agent, have subjected myself to with no questions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Do you know who I am?” the recorded me asked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I know who you work for. Honestly, I thought we’d meet sooner,” Zine said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’ve been on vacation. What’s your business here?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The video pauses, freezing Zine’s contorted face and the words ready to leave it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dr. Lithgo gives me a look of disapproval.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It is not your job to engage in conversation. And it is certainly not your job to find out what the enemy is doing here. It is only your job to kill him. You are an agent. That is your purpose. That is your only purpose.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Is it?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes! You were trained for that. You were chosen to protect humankind and the Society in your purpose. The only way you can do that is to focus on your purpose and nothing else. Do you understand?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hate lying.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He moves in closer. “Do you understand, A47?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Good. You may go. I have all I need for my report.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You’ll fill it with sweet nothings I hope.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes, but I hope it will stay that way in the future.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He never gets my jokes.</span></div>D.C. Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00984087503049946719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1383677990442842046.post-82788741565166264362010-11-11T13:46:00.000-08:002010-11-18T18:14:35.877-08:00Become A Follower If You Dare<span style="font-size: 180%;">Hello</span> <span style="font-size: 130%;">Hello</span> Hello <span style="font-size: 85%;">Hello</span> <span style="font-size: 78%;">Hello</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 78%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 78%;"><span style="font-size: 100%;">Is there anybody out there? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 78%;"><span style="font-size: 100%;">If you like what you read become a follower. More of Agent A*47 on the way. :)</span></span>D.C. Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00984087503049946719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1383677990442842046.post-40454251532023589482007-06-26T21:36:00.000-07:002010-11-18T22:16:30.181-08:00Home<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I was thrown into a life I couldn’t control. For the most part, I just sat back as it raced me through time. It drove the car and I sat and looked out the window. Images came and left. Some I enjoyed. Some I didn’t. Sometimes I didn’t care. But I wasn’t supposed to not care. Growing up in training, I along with everyone else, was always told “You are the greatest gift to your human brethren. You protect them in ways they would never dream. Because of you, they can live without fear. Potentials quote The Call to The Cause.” And we would state it monotonously like robots:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I am chosen. I accept the call to The Cause. I have the power to save my human brethren from those of the outside world. The Society is my mother. I shall defend her against all enemies, even those from within.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I still quoted The Call to The Cause every morning. It was a part of our morning protocol. Before I became an agent, I was a potential. Our teachers, the Masters, taught us domestic history, alien history, and technology. They also trained us to fight. Those who successfully passed the fighting training became agents. Those who didn’t became cleaners, trackers, scientists, and other classifications in which they could practice their gift. The Society classified everyone by their gifts. Every chosen one only performed duties within his gift. That’s how the Society stayed strong.<br />
<br />
My body was weak. I didn’t even have enough energy to sit upright in the backseat of the car. My head leaned against the window. I fought to keep my eyes open. I saw a picture show that made my headache worse. Streaks of white and red lights shot by me. The city lights overwhelmed me. I was a helpless passenger whose only defense was to close my eyes. That was a familiar feeling.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“You must’ve got a tough one. You look swamped,” she said. Her name was Sydney. She was a pretty girl. Very young, around 50 years old. She just passed training. This was my second night with her. My former transporter, Frederick died. He was very old, about 202, and seasoned with such wisdom and compassion. He was a dear friend. His death triggered something in me. I started to wonder who I was. I still don’t have an answer. She looked at me through the rear view mirror. Her eyes overflowed with excitement and determination. She wanted to serve The Society as best as she could. Her eyes said it all. She didn’t care that she was a transporter. She was chosen. She had a gift that helped save the world. That was good enough for her. Seeing young ones like her reminded me of what I was fighting for.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Yeah. He fought me down to the core.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“It’s amazing what you guys do. I wanted to be an agent but it turns out my gift is transporting.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Trust me. There are many days including this one, that I wish I was a transporter.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“I guess everybody falls victim to the ‘grass is greener’ syndrome…” The rest of her voice trailed off. The visuals went cloudy. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Strong hands grabbed my arm abruptly pulling me from dark slumber. My body dragged forward while my mind tried to catch up. I looked back and saw the car. That’s right, I was driven here. It was only surrounded by sky and flat dusty land. It was nature rocking its natural beauty, void of human-made mechanical and architectural pollution, except for the car of course and something else. Deep within, beyond what any eye could see, beyond all technological detection was another world – Home.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">We walked to the mountain up ahead. We headed straight for the rocky wall. The gentleman who accompanied me in the dark jumpsuit, flashed a beam of light toward the wall and after a few seconds a pathway appeared. The thermal disperser activated particles of any object to such high energy that the particles quickly broke down into atomic size and traveled in all directions. This breakdown created space. The particles were so small that practically anything could travel through them. As we walked down the path, the particles quickly went back to their natural state and the mountainous wall solidified.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">The man in the black jumpsuit tapped his foot to a certain rhythm and instantly we were lowered in a tubular shaped elevator to the examining room. This is where all the members of The Society went after their visit to the outside. The examiners took my clothes, retrieved the tiny audio/video recorders, and sent them through the washer. I walked through a dark square tunnel. Fluorescent blue light highlighted my body. The examiners faced me watching a screen I could not see. But I knew what they saw. They were examining every muscle in my body and the scanner scrutinized me even more. We did not have what humans in the outside called privacy. We didn’t care, we never thought to care because it was something we never had.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Once I cleared the scanner, I put on my clean clothes. That simple action took an unmerciful amount of effort. I was still tired. I drug my feet to the rejuvenation room. Knowing that salvation was only a few steps away made me even more tired. I crossed the threshold and plopped into the nearest chair. The deep blue hues and the bright white shades of the room relaxed me. An intricately designed silver tray occupied with only a single, tiny white pill came into view. I took it quickly and waited for it to perform its miracle. A couple of minutes passed and I felt like new. Energy soared through my veins. Internal injuries were corrected. I was restored. That tiny white pill drastically reduced the rate of aging and if taken promptly, could heal just about any injury. Saving Earth and monitoring the activities of the known galaxies was a tough job. The Society had to make sure every member was in their best condition.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">We were scanned for everyone’s protection. Aliens were getting more and more sophisticated with their technology. A few years ago, an agent came back to Home unaware that she was wearing a tracking device. No one found it until it was too late. She was sent on a mission and the enemy was ready for her. They knew she was coming. They were too much for her. Our scientists examined her body and found the tiny gadget lodged in her thigh. How it got there? Who knows? The bad part is they knew where Home was. It was inevitable I guess, but knowing that they knew our location required us to be even more careful. Since then, our scanner was upgraded. It detected even the slightest abnormality in our muscles. Nothing could get past it. Our mission protocols changed as well. We didn’t know where we were going or who we were fighting until the task was at hand. Our trackers followed the agents’ and the enemies’ every move to make sure the agents wouldn’t receive a deadly surprise. We were sent to a location and received a message directing us to a new location. We might visit three or more locations before reaching the final one.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I don’t know what the aliens want from us. I’ve seen their homes. They’re as nice as ours. Some are even better. Of course there are a few slum planets and galaxies but it’s not like Earth is heaven. Whatever their reason for coming here, it couldn’t be good. They were the enemy.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Open,” an examiner said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I opened my mouth and in went a tube. I puffed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You’re good to go. You’re fully rejuvenated.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I didn’t need her to tell me that. I felt like new. Off to my quarters I go. Tall heavy doors opened and I entered an all too familiar space. People went here and there. The pace of the Annex never stopped. I always wondered where people were going. Everyone looked so busy. The only message their faces gave was that they had a destination and they intended to reach it. Smiling to a stranger might deflect them from their goal so they pretended not to see you. Occasionally I got a looker but that’s probably because I’m well known. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Adam!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Someone acknowledged me after all.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I thought I was on my own tonight,” Gavin said. He’s my best friend.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Why? What’s going on?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You and me that’s what. We are gonna hit The Bar tonight. I can’t deal with all the ladies on my own. There’s only so much of me but I’m willing to share. You should be thanking me for my generosity.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Thank you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“No problem. You just got back?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yeah. I was a little shaky at first but I got the job done.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Of course you did. So what do you say?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Let’s do it. Give me a few minutes though. I need to change.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Don’t take too long. I can’t stay late. I have a mission tomorrow.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">We walked in and saw that the place was full. This was a good night. Everyone looked happy but when their eyes met mine, they shined brighter, their smiles got bigger. They recognized who I was. They turned to their friends, whispered in their ears and spread the star-struck disease throughout the club. The lights flashed, the music pulsed, people drank and danced. I just came from this scene. But that was business. Now it’s my turn to have fun.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Two beers please,” I said. We handed our identification cards to the bartender. The I.D. card was equivalent to credit cards those on the outside used and it confirmed our drinking limits. All of our expenses, whether needs or wants, were taken care of. Of course on the basis that we were in good standing. It was shameful to be drunk, and more than that, the Society did what it could to prevent anyone from getting drunk. We never knew if Home would be attacked. If that moment ever came, everyone would need to have a clear mind and exercise their gift to the best of their ability. As long as we were protecting the Society, we were protecting all of humankind. That was the gift we all had in common.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Why don’t you triple that?” a familiar female voice asked. Xena handed her card to the bartender. Her eyes met mine with confidence. She knew nearly every guy loved her tall, curvaceous, toned physique. Her skin was perfect as well as her smile. She had the smart gift too. She was a scientist. Say hello to every man’s dream. So why wasn’t she mine? She probably wondered the same thing. Maybe it’s because she seemed perfect and completely satisfied with her world. I hadn’t reached that position and I was slightly uncomfortable around those who had. But I didn’t want to be labeled abnormal so I pretended to be just as happy as the other chosen ones. To make matters worse, nearly everyone knew who I was. They praised the killer inside me. I had to play the part.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Where ya been?” Xena asked. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Gavin has seen me in this uncomfortable situation before. He’s going to get up any moment now…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Watch my drink,” he said. He’s so predictable.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“I just got back from a mission. How’s it going?” I put my best acting skills to work.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“I’m doing good. I’ve been working a lot the past few days. We’re working on a new project in the lab.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Oh yeah?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“But I can’t tell you about it. It’s top secret,” she whispered coyly.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Oh. I’m glad you’re doing good. It was nice seeing you -- ”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“But I’m easy to break you know. All I need is the right temptation,” she said squeezing my thigh.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Is someone sitting here?” an attractive female voice asked.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I turned to match the voice with a face. The face was even more attractive but most importantly, she gave me an out. Xena’s hand slipped from my leg.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Someone was sitting there. But you can keep his seat warm until he comes back.” I winked.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Okay,” she smiled. It was a beautiful smile. Being A47 isn't always so bad. </div>D.C. Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00984087503049946719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1383677990442842046.post-58629922269887801352006-12-13T18:38:00.000-08:002010-11-18T22:05:33.579-08:00Sunset:Part 2<span style="font-family: times new roman; font-size: 130%;">Have you ever looked at the world through eyes attached to a familiar body but with the mind of a different spirit? Of course you have. Surely you’ve done something you normally wouldn’t or thought you couldn’t. Surely, even if it was only once, you’ve opened the eyes of reason and found yourself standing one step from the edge of a cliff, just saving yourself from doing something stupid or maybe you’d already fallen. Or maybe that cliff was a means by which you could receive accolades for a triumphant victory you still wonder how you managed to achieve. What drove you to do that special something? It was you, but a part of you that was so unfamiliar you mistook it for somebody else. It was that dormant you kept locked away, deep in the dungeon with your other imprisoned characters. Remember that cloudy, ill-defined moment. Touch it. Smell it. Now you can fit into my shoes.<br />
<br />
When I’m at battle, Adam Cross, the guy you met a few minutes ago (trust me, he’s not all that bad), runs through the back door praying not to be the final destination of a stray bullet. Then Agent A47 appears. Through the years I’ve grown to know him. I don’t like him very much – he’s a killer. But I respect him, he protects humans both good and bad.<br />
<br />
Slip into my shoes, firmly plant your feet on top of mine as I stand in this white room prepared for battle.<br />
<br />
As I looked at my 7 foot tall enemy, I held the invisible chains in my hands, ready to unleash my deadly accomplice. We stood face to face, eye to eye. My eyes settled on his long, thick neck. As you saw earlier, his body temperature was 87.5. That was rather cold for a human. Even the ones who made it a point to be jackasses didn’t come that cold. My mental computer, snuggly enclosed by bone and fluid searched my memory database and quickly turned up a match of who this being most likely was. He was a hummer, not human. I had to be careful with this one. Hummers had a unique ability of causing just about anything to vibrate with their humming sounds. They controlled their hums to produce frequencies that could vibrate something as small as a needle or as massive as the ground. Aside from his broad neck, he looked like any other human being. In fact, most aliens did. That was why our work was so important. We were the only ones who could tell them apart, and kill them.<br />
<br />
He wore a white suit with a matching tie and shoes. His shoes nearly blended into the floor, definitely putting my white (or what I thought were white) sneakers to shame. His bald head partially reflected light beams alerting me of its presence. The light told anyone who could see that he was pristine and I was filth, he was regal and I was inferior. I could tell he believed it. Fear wasn’t in this room. But the light, as it usually did, failed to show the truth. Things weren’t as they seemed. Truth wasn’t boastful. It knew how to twist and turn, dodging light’s rays until it chose to be seen. But I could see it. In time I knew that silent powerful being would peek its head from the shadows. The truth was that while this hummer wore a suit and I wore dirty khakis and tennis shoes, he wasn’t the better fighter, I was.<br />
<br />
His kind lived in Galaxy Zero, 40,000 light years away. What the hell was he doing here? I was told that he was a spy but my gracious heart wanted to let him speak for himself.<br />
<br />
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“I know who you work for. Honestly, I thought we’d meet sooner.”<br />
<br />
“I’ve been on vacation. What’s your business here?”<br />
<br />
“Why are you asking when you already know?”<br />
<br />
“You’re a spy.”<br />
<br />
“Spy has such a negative connotation. I prefer the term student or researcher. I’m just trying to learn all I can about this great planet of yours.”<br />
<br />
His English was flawless. He didn’t even have an accent. His native tongue was different from any language spoken on Earth.<br />
<br />
A feminine digital voice sounded in my head. “Timer activated and counting.”<br />
<br />
When my eyes had recognized that the man in front of me was an alien, a timer implanted in my brain was triggered and the countdown had begun. Agents had 6 minutes to complete their assignments. We were trained to defeat the enemy in 2 minutes. I hold the record. Six years ago I defeated an alien from Galaxy Five in 57 seconds.<br />
<br />
It was extremely rare that an agent couldn’t defeat their enemy in 6 minutes but if such an unfortunate event did happen, the Society would finish the job themselves. I didn’t know exactly how they did it but I did know that the whole city would lose power and a short pulse of light would appear from the darkness and with great precision enter the alien’s body causing the enemy to implode. It would all be done within seconds. The Society wanted the job done right and fast. The longer a fight lasted, the higher the chance of getting a spectator and that was highly frowned upon.<br />
<br />
The Society in many ways was like a mother to a child. It was very important to keep the child innocent as long as possible. We did what we did to keep human interests, whether good or bad, restricted to Earth. You could argue whether our reasons for keeping it from people were right or not but no one could argue that what we did was wrong. Human beings still existed because of us, because of The Cause.<br />
<br />
“It’s only proper that we at least know each other’s names before we carry on. My name is Zine. I come from Galaxy Zero but you probably know that already,” he said.<br />
<br />
“That sounds about right.”<br />
<br />
“And you are?”<br />
<br />
“I’m Agent A47.”<br />
<br />
“The famous Agent A47? I guess I should feel honored. Only the really dangerous ones meet you.”<br />
<br />
“Now that we’ve broken the ice, let’s get down to business.”<br />
<br />
“Right.”<br />
<br />
A fraction of a second after that word left his mouth iron-hard knuckles met my brow sending my body across the room to the opposite wall. Adrenaline pumped through my veins giving me a surge of power. The chains were loosed. Determined eyes led my feet as they pounded toward him. He stood his ground ready for me but uncertain which move I would make. I arrived at arms length. He swung again but his body slightly rotated as his clenched fist aggressively traveled through open air. I saw the top of his shiny head as I soared above him. He couldn’t react fast enough. I paid him back with an iron clad fist to the ridge in the middle of his back. Me, him, and tension couldn’t help but hear the crisp snap. He threw his head back screaming. He dropped to his knees and his arched back hit the floor. I slowly walked around to see his face. It showed a feeling any person speaking any language from any galaxy could understand – pain. He wouldn’t last long. I knew it. He knew it. His eyes bulged trying to jump from their sockets to escape the horror. But they, like him, couldn’t escape. They were prisoners of their destiny.<br />
<br />
His eyes settled on mine. Another emotion appeared mixing with pain until it formed the color of fury. An invisible bird pecked my nerves telling me this wasn’t over. His shoulders moved as he sucked in air and a deep low hum reached my ears. I fearfully waited for the pain and it came. My eardrums fluctuated rapidly. The vibrations moved to my brain causing pain I couldn’t ignore. I fell to my knees. Defeat turned its interest to me and I could feel it working its way inside. I had to stop it from going any further. I was agent A47. I was better than the pain.<br />
<br />
I crawled toward him. The hum grew deeper. My heart began beating uncontrollably. Beads of sweat showed my distress and rolled down my face replacing the tears I didn’t cry. The pain in my chest slowed me down. The dizziness weakened me. Voices in my head competed to be heard. Why don’t you give up? It’s too hard. The pain is unbearable. You’re agent A47. You’re better than the pain.<br />
<br />
I continued to drag myself toward him. Just as I reached for him the hum grew even deeper. The ground shook. A low deep grumble sounding like a monster ready to break free from the compacted earth haunted the air. A lamp toppled from the coffee table and crashed to the floor.<br />
<br />
A digital voice in my head sounded. “Four minutes remaining.”<br />
<br />
I fought harder, reaching my hand forward and grabbing his neck. I balanced myself and inched toward him to tighten my grip with both hands. I squeezed as much as my weak body would let me. The hum weakened and the ground responded in stillness. I squeezed harder. The hum grew fainter and I got stronger. The pain went away and I was back on top. I squeezed his neck so hard, I was shaking. The humming ceased and so did his breathing.<br />
<br />
I stood over him as reality slapped me in the face and made me realize what I just went through. Like I said, it was like looking at the world with familiar eyes but a different spirit.<br />
<br />
I wanted to make this fight as clean as possible. I didn’t want to give Joel a hard time. Joel was my sweeper and a real cool kid. He cleaned up the mess after my fights. All agents had one.<br />
<br />
I climbed out the window I came in and noticed a young man in a black jumpsuit surveying the area.<br />
<br />
“Hey buddy,” I said.<br />
<br />
He turned to me, not at all surprised to see my face. “Well, well. Agent A47 rises to yet another triumphant victory.”<br />
<br />
“It’s all yours, Joel.”<br />
<br />
“I’m almost scared to look.”<br />
<br />
“Get in there,” I said with a smirk. We exchanged smiles.<br />
<br />
He covered his face with a black gas mask and went inside. I climbed down the fire escape, one foot after the other. I was beat. I emerged from behind the building onto Sunset Boulevard and weaved between the people talking amongst themselves.<br />
<br />
“Did you feel that earthquake?”<br />
<br />
“That was a pretty big one. I don’t see much damage though.”<br />
<br />
“That’s L.A. for you.”<br />
<br />
I walked through the crowd to a black sedan parked in front of me. I hopped inside.<br />
<br />
“Good to see you Adam,” the driver said.<br />
<br />
It was time to go home.</span>D.C. Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00984087503049946719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1383677990442842046.post-70667657097781767282006-11-13T20:24:00.000-08:002010-11-18T22:00:21.657-08:00Sunset: Part 1<span style="font-family: times new roman; font-size: 85%;">Note: This post is a work of fiction.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Do you ever wonder if you’re where you’re supposed to be in life? Would life be the same if you were somewhere else? Would there be a kink in the universe because one relatively tiny human organism on planet Earth was displaced? Are you supposed to be sitting in that chair? Were you supposed to make that right turn in the complex, never-ending path that composes the maze constituting your life? What if you’d turned left?</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">Two identical men composed of imaginary lines, perfect copies of the man I saw in the mirror everyday, reacted to my thoughts in the sub-physical world of my mind. One of the tall, dark-haired figures nodded while the other contorted his face in deep thought. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">If my life were rewound and played again, would I choose to pick up this shot glass of whiskey? Would I choose to sit at this bar? The thing is, I’m not sure I chose the first time. So why was I here? Oh yeah, that’s right…I was waiting for something. A message to be exact. A message that would send me on my next assignment.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">Like most people, I didn’t like my job. But it was all I knew. I did it and I did it well. Besides, it was my duty and The Cause was certainly worth fighting for. I guess that was good enough reason for a 78 year-old to still be doing my type of work. Well, by your standards I was closer to 30…tops. But those were minor details. Not at all important. The important thing for me was to stay alert. The messages I received weren’t in the easiest places to find and since when was any location on Sunset Boulevard less than distracting?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">The woman in red sitting a couple of barstools to my right also had a shot of whiskey. She was beautiful. Apparently, everybody else thought so too. A few even had the guts to make advances, but she shut them down. Now she was looking at me through those teasing eyes. What were they saying? <em>Hey, cutie. Why don’t you come over and talk to me?</em> Or was it more like, <em>I know I’m cute. I’m too good for you, but let’s see whatcha got. </em></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: large;">Five seconds later, her body no longer rested on the barstool, her drink abandoned, she walked my way. Her eyes focused on me. They became the head of an arrow aiming for a pre-determined target.</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;"><em>“</em>Ol’ Jack over there doesn’t look too happy with you leaving him,” I said. She walked past me and my words.<em> My main man. Give me a high five…oh, you left me hangin’.</em></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">Repetitive audio beeps, sounding so familiar they could’ve been the power button and I the robot automatically looking at my watch to receive the next command, demanded my attention.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">My watch read:<em> MESSAGE READY.</em></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">Where was it? You’re guess was as good as mine. I took my time. My glass was empty. A full one stood all alone just two steps away. Empty glass. Full glass.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">I ignored the poisonous taste of the chemical vixen that slapped my tongue and penetrated. She felt good. You’ve heard it before – ignorance is bliss. It was so blissful, those of us seeking it stared outside its window painfully anticipating just a piece. Sometimes the more I know the sadder I become. The people here look so happy and care free. They have no idea what's out there. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">I don’t know how I got here but somehow during that last thought my body transferred to the empty barstool occupying the desolate space surrounding the full shot glass. Who cares? Bottoms up.<em> </em></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">My eyes revealed a vision of their beholder with the aid of light and reflective glass. Truth hit me in the face. My eyes were red. Deep down I was tired. Now I could see another message the mirror displayed – not through reflection but through written words:</span></span><br />
<br />
<div align="center"><span style="font-family: times new roman; font-size: 130%;"><em>HAPPY WEEKEND!<br />
THE PARTY’S NEXT DOOR, TOP FLOOR</em></span></div><div align="left"><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">It was time to go. My white sneakers hit the floor and I was outta there. My body entered the room with no limits and relished in the free air. My eyes greeted red and white lights. My ears welcomed the sound of cars, loud music, and futile laughter. I passed people that didn’t even give me a first glance. I guess I should’ve been happy. That was how it was supposed to be. I worked for an agency our world’s most powerful leaders didn’t know about. No one knew about us, except us. The Society, so it was called, had been in existence since at least the 1700’s. It was more than clandestine, it was invisible. They didn’t even tell us agents everything, or hardly anything.<em> </em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">I am Adam Cross. They call me Agent A47. I execute missions for The Society, but most importantly for The Cause. According to them, before I’d had my accident, I’d pledged my life to The Cause and had just begun training. I don’t remember any of it. Although I had been a part of the Society for 68 years, I still felt like something wasn’t right. Like I had another life before. But a part of me – that comfortable part, that scared part – didn’t want to know, didn’t want to ask questions, just wanted to accept my life as it was. So far that part was winning. As for The Cause, that’s a long story but perhaps this next assignment will give you an idea.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">“Owww! Hey baby, where’s the party?” An SUV full of guys practically hanging out the windows called out to a tall woman walking towards me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">She gave me the eye. “Hey, baby.” Her voice was unusually deep, even deeper than mine...<em>Gottcha!</em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">I reached my destination. Another bar next door to the one I was patron to, where we met. Lots of people crowded inside trying to yell over loud music that exuded heavy vibrations I nearly mistook for a second heartbeat. I went around back. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">To my advantage, there was a fire escape. Up, up, up I climbed until I reached a window of the room of interest. I activated the thermatron on my watch. It could measure body temperatures up to 30 feet away. It read 87.5 – just what I expected. A moment of reflection crept in with the slight breeze. I was here, outside a window that would be the silent witness to a struggle no human eyes were to see. I could win. I could lose. But there was no time to think. I had a job to do.<em> </em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">The open window invited me in. I stepped into a big square room with white walls and floors – not just white but the whitest white – sparingly furnished with a sofa placed perfectly in the middle, a coffee table, and a lamp stand. The sofa matched the pristine-white tiled floors. Even the telephone and lamp were white. The coffee table and lamp stand were transparent - they must’ve been made of glass. This room was a white cocoon safely perched in a safe haven amid the dark, wild night. It was serenity.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Footsteps sounded close behind me. The alcohol and adrenaline cocktail swimming in my veins morphed sound waves into echoes. I turned around drowning in a towering shadow. The body it emulated brought a cold stare. I felt my heart, it pumped faster. I felt my lungs, I breathed harder. But I was ready. Let the battle begin.</span></div>D.C. Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00984087503049946719noreply@blogger.com1