They were finally there - Symphony Forge Square. There lay the Russian Politburo building, the setting for the final level of the game. Jack and the others, including a beleaguered Curbi Puclet, stood in a row on a raised level near the front of the darkened marble hall, awaiting their audience to debate for their lives. Jack had a game plan - with a famous major league athlete on their team, he had decided on an admittedly longshot argument.
The chamber filled, mics were placed, and the other team went first. They argued well, though Jack could tell that one player on the opposing team was only there to spite her boyfriend, though there was clearly love on both sides of the relationship.
Finally, it was Jack's turn.
"Ladies and gentlemen - I'll be frank. The only thing keeping Russia together is baseball. By killing us, you'd be killing baseball, in turn killing off Russian pride, unity, and, in the end, the very country itself. The future of Russia relies on baseball's survival."
Jack continued on for some time, answering compelling questions and impassioned rebuttals. In the end, Jack's team was successful and they were allowed to live.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Beltways Alliance
The high school was teeming with students, stereotypical in appearance and behavior. Different clusters representing various social niches milled and globbed. Jack climbed a series of floating, disconnected inflatable slides above a large, festive swimming fountain, marveling at the posh interior of the building. The scene seemed, to Jack, to be a vignette from a feel-good 80's movie. The buzzing commotion of students, the paper in the air, the dichotomy between mundanity and youthful vigor and expectation.
He'd been here once before, but much had changed, and definitely for the better. The school was, frankly, amazing. Interlocking staircases combined in interesting ways. Stalls with purposes unkown bordered on every wall, each at a slightly different elevation. There was an abundance of plants and water. Jack, being an amateur appreciator of large, artificially enclosed spaces, found himself wishing he were young enough to attend.
Ahead was a group of unruly bullies, young men and women completely lacking in self-confidence but burly enough to put on a facade to the contrary. Their ring leader, a particularly tough-looking boy with a regrettably baby-like face, postured for his fellows as the group ascended the flimsy waterslides.
Below, a calm young boy rode an inflatable blob. He seemed far too young to be in high school, and the reckless display of his wealth indicated a lack of regard for, or unawareness of, those medieval social norms unique to secondary school. The bullies locked onto him almost immediately.
The group descended from the slides; by that time, the young rich boy had stalked off to a stone wall near one of the exterior doors. He began to punch the wall, either in anger or in preparation; it was impossible to tell.
"Hey, kid," said the ringleader once they had surrounded the lad.
He ignored them and continued landing light punches on the stone.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
The lad stopped and slowly turned around.
"Who do you think you are? Some rich snot kid comes waltzing in here, and he thinks he can ignore me? I think you need a lesson." The gang leader advanced, leering and making threatening gestures.
"If you hit me," explained the rich boy calmly, "I'll hit this kid here." He grabbed an even younger child who was passing by with some adults, a boy likely half his age, by the shirt collar.
"Aw, no!" exclaimed the very young boy in the comic voice of a 40's radio announcer. "No, not me! Not me, darling!" He smiled, displaying far too many teeth, all perfectly aligned and white. The site was both ingratiating and slightly disturbing.
"And he," continued the rich kid, "will pass it on to his kid." He pointed to a mere baby, barely able to walk under his own power, beside the very young kid whose collar he held.
The head bully looked horrified, and backed away just as slowly as he'd advanced.
In the epilogue, the bullies stand around the fountain alongside the rich kid, everyone smiling and posing with their very own inflatable blobs. The peace they'd forged had allowed them all to become rich from the resulting drug trade revenue.
Their parents now, in a separate pose, standing, miniaturized, in an office on top of a wooden desk. Beside, an enormous telephone, relative to their size. They too had profited from their children's actions, as evidenced by their own blobs. Their smiles indicated a very slight amount of confusion.
"What?" one asked.
He'd been here once before, but much had changed, and definitely for the better. The school was, frankly, amazing. Interlocking staircases combined in interesting ways. Stalls with purposes unkown bordered on every wall, each at a slightly different elevation. There was an abundance of plants and water. Jack, being an amateur appreciator of large, artificially enclosed spaces, found himself wishing he were young enough to attend.
Ahead was a group of unruly bullies, young men and women completely lacking in self-confidence but burly enough to put on a facade to the contrary. Their ring leader, a particularly tough-looking boy with a regrettably baby-like face, postured for his fellows as the group ascended the flimsy waterslides.
Below, a calm young boy rode an inflatable blob. He seemed far too young to be in high school, and the reckless display of his wealth indicated a lack of regard for, or unawareness of, those medieval social norms unique to secondary school. The bullies locked onto him almost immediately.
The group descended from the slides; by that time, the young rich boy had stalked off to a stone wall near one of the exterior doors. He began to punch the wall, either in anger or in preparation; it was impossible to tell.
"Hey, kid," said the ringleader once they had surrounded the lad.
He ignored them and continued landing light punches on the stone.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
The lad stopped and slowly turned around.
"Who do you think you are? Some rich snot kid comes waltzing in here, and he thinks he can ignore me? I think you need a lesson." The gang leader advanced, leering and making threatening gestures.
"If you hit me," explained the rich boy calmly, "I'll hit this kid here." He grabbed an even younger child who was passing by with some adults, a boy likely half his age, by the shirt collar.
"Aw, no!" exclaimed the very young boy in the comic voice of a 40's radio announcer. "No, not me! Not me, darling!" He smiled, displaying far too many teeth, all perfectly aligned and white. The site was both ingratiating and slightly disturbing.
"And he," continued the rich kid, "will pass it on to his kid." He pointed to a mere baby, barely able to walk under his own power, beside the very young kid whose collar he held.
The head bully looked horrified, and backed away just as slowly as he'd advanced.
In the epilogue, the bullies stand around the fountain alongside the rich kid, everyone smiling and posing with their very own inflatable blobs. The peace they'd forged had allowed them all to become rich from the resulting drug trade revenue.
Their parents now, in a separate pose, standing, miniaturized, in an office on top of a wooden desk. Beside, an enormous telephone, relative to their size. They too had profited from their children's actions, as evidenced by their own blobs. Their smiles indicated a very slight amount of confusion.
"What?" one asked.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Lost Niece
"Could you maybe watch her for just a bit?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah, that should be okay..."
"It'll just be for, like, twenty minutes. I've just got to run over to the place quick."
"Ok." Jack accepted the small baby, his niece, from his in-law's hands. Jack was unprepared for the weight of the infant, and nearly lost his grip.
"I haven't done this much," he explained sheepishly to the young man.
"Okay, I'll be right back." The young man left through the large glass garage door.
Jack cradled the young girl lovingly in his arms. She seemed somewhat pudgy, but what baby wasn't? Her hair had not yet made an appearance, and her eyes moved sluggishly behind half-closed lids. He held her and carefully sat down in on one of the long wooden benches arrayed messily around the darkened, open room. Ahead, a television blazed merrily in he darkness, drawing Jack's attention during the moments when he wasn't watching his niece.
After a time, he looked over to see the child being held by her future self, an attractive, dark-haired young woman in her early twenties.
"Ah, that's probably fine, then," thought Jack. He turned back to the TV, meditating on how beautiful his niece would grow up to be.
Just then, a car rolled into the room and a middle-aged woman got out. Jack recognized her as the child's grandmother.
"Hi!" called Jack, realizing with some relief that his duties were over for the time being.
"Hello," she replied busily. "Where's the baby?"
"Right over h-" Jack stopped abruptly. Where the baby and her future self had been, there was an empty space.
"She was just over here, I guess they got up." Jack led the grandmother into the next room, where his future niece was milling about. "There, she has her."
The young woman wandered over and displayed a small bicycle reflector still in its cardboard-backed plastic packaging. "Here's the baby. See?"
"Uh, no, that's not her..." said Jack.
"Yes," explained the young woman. The grandmother frowned angrily.
"You never let go of a baby when you're watching it!" she scowled at Jack. "Now we've lost her!"
"I'm sorry," stammered Jack, "I didn't know..."
Jack began to scrounge around the space, digging through old junk and wondering idly if he'd happen across his old Game Boy. He was worried that something metaphysical had happened to the baby, that perhaps by entrusting her to her future self he'd allowed her to cross some boundary from which she couldn't be recovered. Around him, others filtered into the room, but few of them seemed actively worried.
Eventually, Jack found the baby sleeping in her crib in a darkened room off of the main chamber.
"I found her!" he called with relief. The others went into the room and discovered that that child had indeed been recovered, though also inadvertently awakened by her grandmother's careless crib rummaging.
Jack nodded. "Yeah, that should be okay..."
"It'll just be for, like, twenty minutes. I've just got to run over to the place quick."
"Ok." Jack accepted the small baby, his niece, from his in-law's hands. Jack was unprepared for the weight of the infant, and nearly lost his grip.
"I haven't done this much," he explained sheepishly to the young man.
"Okay, I'll be right back." The young man left through the large glass garage door.
Jack cradled the young girl lovingly in his arms. She seemed somewhat pudgy, but what baby wasn't? Her hair had not yet made an appearance, and her eyes moved sluggishly behind half-closed lids. He held her and carefully sat down in on one of the long wooden benches arrayed messily around the darkened, open room. Ahead, a television blazed merrily in he darkness, drawing Jack's attention during the moments when he wasn't watching his niece.
After a time, he looked over to see the child being held by her future self, an attractive, dark-haired young woman in her early twenties.
"Ah, that's probably fine, then," thought Jack. He turned back to the TV, meditating on how beautiful his niece would grow up to be.
Just then, a car rolled into the room and a middle-aged woman got out. Jack recognized her as the child's grandmother.
"Hi!" called Jack, realizing with some relief that his duties were over for the time being.
"Hello," she replied busily. "Where's the baby?"
"Right over h-" Jack stopped abruptly. Where the baby and her future self had been, there was an empty space.
"She was just over here, I guess they got up." Jack led the grandmother into the next room, where his future niece was milling about. "There, she has her."
The young woman wandered over and displayed a small bicycle reflector still in its cardboard-backed plastic packaging. "Here's the baby. See?"
"Uh, no, that's not her..." said Jack.
"Yes," explained the young woman. The grandmother frowned angrily.
"You never let go of a baby when you're watching it!" she scowled at Jack. "Now we've lost her!"
"I'm sorry," stammered Jack, "I didn't know..."
Jack began to scrounge around the space, digging through old junk and wondering idly if he'd happen across his old Game Boy. He was worried that something metaphysical had happened to the baby, that perhaps by entrusting her to her future self he'd allowed her to cross some boundary from which she couldn't be recovered. Around him, others filtered into the room, but few of them seemed actively worried.
Eventually, Jack found the baby sleeping in her crib in a darkened room off of the main chamber.
"I found her!" he called with relief. The others went into the room and discovered that that child had indeed been recovered, though also inadvertently awakened by her grandmother's careless crib rummaging.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Paternal Wisdom
"Jack? Is that you?" called Sharlit from behind her closed door.
"Uh, yeah, it's me," replied Jack. He'd been locked out and had just walked through her dwelling to get his key. She hadn't appeared to be home at the time.
"Were you just in here?"
"Yeah..."
"You didn't steal anything did you?" she asked tentatively.
"Oh, no. No, definitely not."
"Good," she sighed in relief. "You know, my father used to have a saying: The young ones, kind of scrawny, scruffy, tallish, a bit salty - those of the ones you need to watch out for." She chuckled.
"Uh, yeah, it's me," replied Jack. He'd been locked out and had just walked through her dwelling to get his key. She hadn't appeared to be home at the time.
"Were you just in here?"
"Yeah..."
"You didn't steal anything did you?" she asked tentatively.
"Oh, no. No, definitely not."
"Good," she sighed in relief. "You know, my father used to have a saying: The young ones, kind of scrawny, scruffy, tallish, a bit salty - those of the ones you need to watch out for." She chuckled.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Area Resarch
Jack and Holiwod walked in from the car toward the complex. The lighting was a dusky gray-green, suggesting that there was a storm brewing somewhere in the cloud cover high above. All was calm in the parking lot, though. The trees along the perimeter stood silently on slightly elevated knolls. Beyond, the buzz of late-day traffic wafted from a nearby highway.
Jack noticed two men waiting for him on the grass barrier before the road bordering the mall. He recognized them from the grocery store earlier, where all the displays had fallen. He smiled, remembered the several tons of cascading roma tomatoes.
"Hi. My name is George, and this my friend," said one man. His skin suggested African descent, though it was mottled and lighter than that of his friend. His accent was also African, though Jack would be hard-pressed to identify the region.
"Sure, I remember you," said Jack, returning the man's handshake.
"Hey, thanks again for not leaving me out in the cold on the invite," said George gratefully.
"Yeah, thanks!" waved his friend from behind.
"Oh, well...you know," offered Jack weakly.
"Really, it is not fun to show up and find you have been left out in the cold. It is not so good," George said.
"Well, it's not like it's an exclusive thing," replied Jack. "Or not even a thing at all. Really, any old person could just walk in off the street and do fine. Well, maybe not any person..."
"You know," George said more quietly, leaning in as if he was afraid to be overheard, "we are doing research on the area, you see. It is seeming to be a very nice, uh, very white and sexy place."
"Oh!...well, yeah, I guess..."
"It is just seeming to be this way," George asserted.
Jack looked around at all the shopping centers and strip malls and considered the well-manicured grass strips and flowerbeds.
"Sexy...eh, yeah, a little, though not necessarily a lot. Definitely white. Very white. Which is, uh, not bad, I suppose, but not overly great. I guess."
George smiled and nodded.
Jack noticed two men waiting for him on the grass barrier before the road bordering the mall. He recognized them from the grocery store earlier, where all the displays had fallen. He smiled, remembered the several tons of cascading roma tomatoes.
"Hi. My name is George, and this my friend," said one man. His skin suggested African descent, though it was mottled and lighter than that of his friend. His accent was also African, though Jack would be hard-pressed to identify the region.
"Sure, I remember you," said Jack, returning the man's handshake.
"Hey, thanks again for not leaving me out in the cold on the invite," said George gratefully.
"Yeah, thanks!" waved his friend from behind.
"Oh, well...you know," offered Jack weakly.
"Really, it is not fun to show up and find you have been left out in the cold. It is not so good," George said.
"Well, it's not like it's an exclusive thing," replied Jack. "Or not even a thing at all. Really, any old person could just walk in off the street and do fine. Well, maybe not any person..."
"You know," George said more quietly, leaning in as if he was afraid to be overheard, "we are doing research on the area, you see. It is seeming to be a very nice, uh, very white and sexy place."
"Oh!...well, yeah, I guess..."
"It is just seeming to be this way," George asserted.
Jack looked around at all the shopping centers and strip malls and considered the well-manicured grass strips and flowerbeds.
"Sexy...eh, yeah, a little, though not necessarily a lot. Definitely white. Very white. Which is, uh, not bad, I suppose, but not overly great. I guess."
George smiled and nodded.
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