Post by Mutant Headcrab on Aug 14, 2004 0:58:09 GMT -5
I origionally started this on another board. However, several chapters into it and I don't get any meaningful comments or critics on it at all. I figure a board like this would be more willing for commentaries than others.
The harsh suns of the desert often plays tricks on those who stay out to long. That is one of many explanations for the latest phenomena. There are those who claim that they have seen the Stampede. Most rumors say he is accompanied by someone who looks exactly like him. Others say he is alone. Most have dismissed them as just rumors. There are a few, however, who do believe them. They believe that the man once known as the Humanoid Typhoon holds an answer. The answer to why their ancestors were forced to live on the inhospitable world known as Gunsmoke.
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November City had shown a great deal of growth in recent months. Every day, the paved streets are filled with the hustle and bustle of everyday life. To some, it is a comforting constant. To others, however, it is a tedious routine. Very few of those actually possess the desire to break that monotony.
Henry Senkej opened the door to his apartment and staggered in. The clean-shaved, brown haired man dropped his briefcase on the floor, he collapsed onto the nearest couch. It had been a particularly rough day. Turning over onto his back, Henry stared at the ceiling in contemplation. “Bitch in a buzz saw,” he muttered. His mind practically shut down as he rested. He had always imagined as a child that the job of detective would be the greatest. Solving crimes and fighting bad guys and getting the girl in the end.
The worn-out detective lifted his head for a moment and took a glance around his apartment. Most of his possessions were second-hand. The paint was chipped on some of the walls and their was a stain in the rug he couldn’t (nor really wanted to) identify. Over on a counter was an overturned picture of him and his ex-girlfriend. Reality confirmed, he slumped back down onto the couch. He tried to think over his day, but found that there was nothing to think about. Despite his title, he was little more than a paper pusher. It was enough to make a man depressed. Of course there was only one thing to cure depression.
His phone, like the rest of his furniture, was junk. It worked well enough though. He dialed an ever familiar number and waited for someone to pick up. “Hello,” came a rather lackadaisical, yet chipper voice. “Hey, Alex! What say you and me go out for a few drinks tonight….”
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The bar was a rather seedy place on the outskirts of the city. It was out of the way and dirty as hell, but the drinks were pretty damn good. Henry had already sat down at the small table in the corner of the bar. He had already started on his first drink when a rather scruffy looking guy walked into the bar. Spotting Henry, Alex Shankle quickly worked his way across the crowded bar, somehow getting a drink at the same time. The rather scruffy looking Alex sat down at Harry’s table. “So,” said Alex, “Take it you had another crap day?” Henry gave a rather bemused smirk. “I guess you could say that.” Alex took a swig of his drink. “Well, I can at least guarantee you that my day was a bitch as well, so you have my sympathies. A brief chuckle escaped Henry’s lips.
After a momentary silence of beer drinking, Henry had a rather serious look on his face. “I’m thinking of quitting my job.” Alex somewhat choked a bit on his beer. After a few brief coughs he asked, “Why would you do that?” With a somewhat deep sigh, he told Alex what had been on his mind for the last couple of months. “I was top of my class at the academy. I did excellent on all of the investigative tests. Where am I now? A dead-end, paper pushing, desk job. I haven’t actually had a case in over a year! I’m wasting away at this job. “I see your point,” replied Alex with a shrug.
Reaching into his shirt pocket, Henry pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Taking one out, he lit it up and started smoking away. “You know those things are bad for you,” said Alex with a bemused look on his face. “Helps calm my nerves,” said Henry in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, back to the point at hand, even if you do quit, what are you going to do?” “Well,” replied Henry, “I might open up my own private agency. Hell, maybe I’ll just pack up my bags and go out and do something famous.” A rather skeptical look crossed Alex’s face. “And what, may I ask, could you do to do that?”
Henry took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled a good sized puff of smoke. He looked round the bar for a moment. He was about to turn round back towards Alex when something caught his attention. The TV above the bar was on some sort of news broadcast. There was a special report of some kind. Something about the anniversary of the disappearance of Vash the Stampede. An idea struck Henry. It was an idea that seemed both foolish and idiotic at once. He turned towards Alex, grinning broadly. “I think I may have an idea of what to do!”
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The harsh suns of the desert often plays tricks on those who stay out to long. That is one of many explanations for the latest phenomena. There are those who claim that they have seen the Stampede. Most rumors say he is accompanied by someone who looks exactly like him. Others say he is alone. Most have dismissed them as just rumors. There are a few, however, who do believe them. They believe that the man once known as the Humanoid Typhoon holds an answer. The answer to why their ancestors were forced to live on the inhospitable world known as Gunsmoke.
-------------------------------
November City had shown a great deal of growth in recent months. Every day, the paved streets are filled with the hustle and bustle of everyday life. To some, it is a comforting constant. To others, however, it is a tedious routine. Very few of those actually possess the desire to break that monotony.
Henry Senkej opened the door to his apartment and staggered in. The clean-shaved, brown haired man dropped his briefcase on the floor, he collapsed onto the nearest couch. It had been a particularly rough day. Turning over onto his back, Henry stared at the ceiling in contemplation. “Bitch in a buzz saw,” he muttered. His mind practically shut down as he rested. He had always imagined as a child that the job of detective would be the greatest. Solving crimes and fighting bad guys and getting the girl in the end.
The worn-out detective lifted his head for a moment and took a glance around his apartment. Most of his possessions were second-hand. The paint was chipped on some of the walls and their was a stain in the rug he couldn’t (nor really wanted to) identify. Over on a counter was an overturned picture of him and his ex-girlfriend. Reality confirmed, he slumped back down onto the couch. He tried to think over his day, but found that there was nothing to think about. Despite his title, he was little more than a paper pusher. It was enough to make a man depressed. Of course there was only one thing to cure depression.
His phone, like the rest of his furniture, was junk. It worked well enough though. He dialed an ever familiar number and waited for someone to pick up. “Hello,” came a rather lackadaisical, yet chipper voice. “Hey, Alex! What say you and me go out for a few drinks tonight….”
-------------------------------------
The bar was a rather seedy place on the outskirts of the city. It was out of the way and dirty as hell, but the drinks were pretty damn good. Henry had already sat down at the small table in the corner of the bar. He had already started on his first drink when a rather scruffy looking guy walked into the bar. Spotting Henry, Alex Shankle quickly worked his way across the crowded bar, somehow getting a drink at the same time. The rather scruffy looking Alex sat down at Harry’s table. “So,” said Alex, “Take it you had another crap day?” Henry gave a rather bemused smirk. “I guess you could say that.” Alex took a swig of his drink. “Well, I can at least guarantee you that my day was a bitch as well, so you have my sympathies. A brief chuckle escaped Henry’s lips.
After a momentary silence of beer drinking, Henry had a rather serious look on his face. “I’m thinking of quitting my job.” Alex somewhat choked a bit on his beer. After a few brief coughs he asked, “Why would you do that?” With a somewhat deep sigh, he told Alex what had been on his mind for the last couple of months. “I was top of my class at the academy. I did excellent on all of the investigative tests. Where am I now? A dead-end, paper pushing, desk job. I haven’t actually had a case in over a year! I’m wasting away at this job. “I see your point,” replied Alex with a shrug.
Reaching into his shirt pocket, Henry pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Taking one out, he lit it up and started smoking away. “You know those things are bad for you,” said Alex with a bemused look on his face. “Helps calm my nerves,” said Henry in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, back to the point at hand, even if you do quit, what are you going to do?” “Well,” replied Henry, “I might open up my own private agency. Hell, maybe I’ll just pack up my bags and go out and do something famous.” A rather skeptical look crossed Alex’s face. “And what, may I ask, could you do to do that?”
Henry took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled a good sized puff of smoke. He looked round the bar for a moment. He was about to turn round back towards Alex when something caught his attention. The TV above the bar was on some sort of news broadcast. There was a special report of some kind. Something about the anniversary of the disappearance of Vash the Stampede. An idea struck Henry. It was an idea that seemed both foolish and idiotic at once. He turned towards Alex, grinning broadly. “I think I may have an idea of what to do!”
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