(My attempt at an intellectual story. I will set it up so that either other [serious] writers can join, or I will go it alone. Please respect an honest attempt at real writing!)

Light.

Light, colour, essence! Vivid, vibrant, real...

So much, so very much, for the first time!

For the first time?

He couldn't say he had woken; he did not remember going to sleep. Yet he had no doubt, somewhere in his mind, that this was the first time he truly saw. Perceived.

He slowly evaluated his surroundings. He was in a small room with beds in it. The walls were a blank white. A hospital?

No. The ultra hi-tech security keypad on the steel reinforced door ruled that out.

Escape. The word rose, unbidden, to his mind. Escape from what? From whom? To where?

So many questions! He massaged his temples in frustration. All right. Escape, leave first. Then find out. Find out who I am and why my life is forgotten to me.

Another thought occurred to him. There may be others nearby, fellows who may assist my escape. I must find a way out of this room, locate and free them!

Pacing up and down, he hammered on the keypad in frustration. With a pleasant beep, the door opened.

"Handprint recognised. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Andross."

Andross, he thought, forgetting the larger mystery of why he was recognised in the main computer system, catching a glimmer of his reflection in the ajar steel door. He was a man in his mid thirties, with proud, distinctive features, long black hair and a recently created gash on his temple.

Whoever I am, my name...is Gabriel Andross.

(Wherever this goes from here is up to A) you, the writers and my "fellows" who will help to dictate where we are and why we are there, or B) myself, who after no apparent interest from the outside world will hash this tale out by myself. It could go literally anywhere; action, adventure, survival horror, sci-fi, fantasty; the potential is limitless. So please, bring your alter ego into this bold new world and bring the story to life.)


[This message has been edited by The Last True Evil (edited January 16, 2003).]

[This message has been edited by The Last True Evil (edited January 16, 2003).]

(NSP: this sounds interesting. i'll give it a shot later on. not now, though, because i just pulled an all nighter and would probably screw stuff up. i got some ideas for this right before breakfast.

anywhos a few questions. Do the other characters nessecarily have to be his "fellows"? as in can your personal character be the oposition? Can you have more than one character? hmm...i had more but ive forgotten. ill ask them later if i think of them. okay. either later today, or tomorrow, you will have a story post from me, right here. possibly in place of this message, and possibly a new post. *shrugs* btw i like how you represent the thoughts. i dont see that too often anymore.

Ford, thanks for the response. In answer to your questions;

1) If you feel you can write a continuous, personable enemy, you'll be doing me a big favour

2) As many characters that you can keep in memory without overloading yourself is fine...

Oh, and thanks for the comment on the thoughts. I should have mentioned; this is a story that enthusiastically encourages different writing styles and approaches to telling the story. Be original and creative, and in turn, your ideas will be better!

NSP: I'll think about posting something if you help me out with NeS--you flushed what was pretty much my only idea to end the substory down the drain

Also, the begining you have (with the description of the character) makes me think too much of Trigun, so I'd prefer to wait to see a little more from someone else, so that I don't end up ripping from Trigun.

[This message has been edited by Gebohq (edited January 16, 2003).]

I don't know what or who Trigun is, but I apologise if my idea is too close to someone else's. I've modified it accordingly so it's a different description.

And as for the NeS - uh, oops . If by that you mean my most recent post, it doesn't have to end that way...the heroes will no doubt survive, and TLTE will disappear into obscurity until his next world domination plot.

NSP: Darn you for changing the description so I had no excuse AND for not giving me another idea for NeS, both while being so nice at the same time. You really are true evil

Seriously, I'll see what I can do. If you can, since you seem to have the time, I'm pretty sure you're in a prime position to post a teeny-something on TEW

Upon shoving aside the large steel door, Andross stepped out into a long hallway. Composed of antiseptic-white walls lined with doors identical to his, the lighting was almost harsh, forcing him to squint.

A door clicked open, and the sound of footsteps coming his way disturbed the silence. Andross turned to his left and saw a single man approaching his position. Dressed in a black suit, he was a sharp contrast to the facility.

Seeing that he had Andross' attention, the man waved and called out, "Mr. Andross!" increasing his pace.

Huffing, he stopped beside Andross. "Mr. Andross. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Andross shrugged.

"Good, good." The other man seemed to be scrutinizing Andross, looking for some possible defect or problem, despite the answer.

"My name's Richard Miller. I worked on your case," said the other man, proffering his hand and wearing a congenial smile.

Andross tentatively shook hands, and asked, "Where am I?"

Miller blinked, caught off guard. "You don't recognize this place?" Andross' blank look prompted him on, "You're in the California State Correctional Facility - as of today, your sentence is complete." Reaching out, he gently steered Andross towards the door he had entered from.

"Come on, Mr. Andross," said Miller, softly. "I'll take you home."

* * * * * * *

They were in a jeep of a manufacture Andross couldn't recognize, driving through the downtown section of San Francisco. Progress was slow, due to the teeming mass of pedestrians and cyclists who clogged the street, but the sun was out, and Andross could faintly smell the sea. A sense of peace pervaded him.

"...and over here is the Memorial Building, It's pretty much the same as it was last time you saw it, except the food vendors tend to stake it out these days," Miller was saying.

Andross looked out the window at the structure, with it's Romanesque pillars and long steps. Miller had been correct; crowds of people were gathered in the courtyard, feeding gulls or lining up for food.

"When was the last time I saw it?"

Some seriousness crept into Miller's tone. "Fifteen years," he said.

Andross leaned back in the cushioned seat, contemplating, searching his memory for some recollection of past events. Eventually he gave up the task, unable to draw anything but a blank. The jeep quietly hummed along.

* * * * * * *

They were standing in the living room of what Miller had said was Andross' house. A one-storey suburban bungalow, it was well-furnished. Glass doors lead to a deck, and one wall sported a large inlaid television set.

"Things should start coming back to you in about forty hours," said Miller, admiring the coastal vista. "It's called cryonics posioning; the result of the brain essentially being shut down for a long period of time. Some of the higher cognative functions take time to start up again."

Andross folded his arms and faced the other man. "What exactly was my crime?" he asked.

Miller stopped admiring the Pacific and once more the joviality drained from his voice, "You killed a man."

That shocked Andross. Killing, murder, was infathomable to him; he did not feel mentally capable of committing the act.

"You're a cop?"

"No. I'm a lawyer with the District Attorney's office. I helped prosecute you," came the reply.

The next words came almost unbidden, "Isn't this dangerous? Being alone with an alledged killer?"

Miller shook his head, "Proven, and no. You've been completely rehabilitated - modern techniques are flawless. You'll very likely never have a relapse." He pause, and handed Andross a card. "I've got to leave now, but if you have any questions, contact me," he said, indicating the card.

Andross nodded, and the lawyer left him. He heard the jeep pulling out of the driveway, and then there was silence. Tossing Miller's card on a coffee table, he opened the house's - his house's - doors and watched the sea.

(NSP: I said that bit about rehab working perfectly so we can avoid having the main character run around blasting people left and right. That's not to say he can't fight with anyone - it'll just have to be intelligently done.)

Any takers?

Me, me! (Obviously)

Thanks for the great post, Tracer, I really like what you've done. I've got what I consider to be a good twist/addition to your take on the situation, so to you and those concerned, please give me 1-2 days to get this one up.

If you were planning to introduce a character of your own (and I'd appreciate that), please go ahead though!

Andross was still staring at his new place fifteen minutes later. Good Lord, he thought. What is going on? He had no memories, but he felt like he SHOULD, and he ALSO felt like the memories they were telling him he would have shouldn't be right.

So what was going on?

Fifteen YEARS? That was a long time. He looked down at his hands, and saw the hands of a thirty-year-old.

March 3rd, 2061. The date popped into his head suddenly, and he wondered what the significance was. He saw a file folder on the table and picked it up. His name was on the tab. "Gabriel C. Andross." He opened it up and saw a list of vital statistics.

His birthday? No, that February 22nd, 2060. Wait a second, then what could this mysterious date be that was only a year after his birth?

Too many questions, too many questions and too few answers.

Okay, he thought. First things first. What year is it?

A newspaper lay on the table. It was dated August 4, 2105. But his birthday was forty-five years ago! Yet he had the body of a thirty-year-old!

Hadn't that man Miller said something about cryogenics? Had he been frozen for fifteen years?

Andross scrutinized the paper more carefully. There was an short article on the second page headed, "Andross Released Today".

He peered at it. Today, Gabriel Andross was released from a fifteen-year rehabilitation sentence. Do not fear, gentle readers, for he is fully rehabilitated. California Correctional State Facility employee Miller said quite jovially, "Don't worry, he shouldn't be killing any more senators any time soon."

He had killed a senator?

This was too much.

It was about that time that the door was kicked down.

-----

The man's office was rather shabby when you came right down to it. Peeling wallpaper, rotting wood floors, the works. There were a bookshelf and a desk, both equally cluttered, as well as a chair. It was in this chair that the man lounged behind his desk, smoking a pipe filled with a mild intoxicant, when the call came.

-beep-"Sir, this is Rimms. We have him."

"Very good," the man said. "Take him to the lab and extract his DNA template. This man could be the downfall of all civilization!"

-----

Oooh, more mystery. Anyway, this is just what I've done with it. Lata.

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Quest on epic adventures or duel at the High Citadel!

It wasn't difficult to find the site where Andross had murdered the senator, he simply took note of the address mentioned in the paper and took his car. After a few stalls, the feel for driving returned and the trip was uneventful.

------------------

The gruesome scene had taken place at a set of burnt-out buildings, abandoned failures that had been in the senator's sights to renovate and turn into a daycare center and a hospital.

Indeed, Senator Graves had been a well-loved and popular member of the community. His main policies, outlined on the cover of the press story, had demanded 'a return to basic moral values, in a world turned upside down by dangerous new technologies. Graves, a left-wing conservative, believed that the 'untested, wildly varied and troubling' new world techniques such as genetics, cryogenics and cerebral implants-

Andross did a double-take, eyes widening.

The senator had been opposed to cryogenics, and that had been his punishment? It seemed far too insensitive of his captors. It had to be deliberate, somehow. And who took responsibility for his sentence, anyway? His eyes skimmed the remainder of the article as he departed from the car, searching for the answer.

'...the task of rehabilitating Andross falls to noted private company Gentech. "Though the late Senator Graves' opinion of our work was far from popular," Gentech's PR spokesman and legal representative Jacob Simmons disclosed at the time of Andross' sentence, "Acting CEO Rimms says he is certain his opinion would change if he knew it is our reviled technology that is transforming his killer into a normal member of society!"...'

A very dim light, far behind all the forgotten memories and dislodged thoughts waiting to be rediscovered, started to flicker. Miller. The prosecutor at my trial. The man in charge of my rehabilitation and my harmless re-insertion into society. PR representative for Gentech, a corporation designing advances in the fields of cryogenics, genetics and cerebral implants. I know for a fact I've experienced cryogenics; but the other two-

"SIR!"

Andross turned, startled. He had unknowingly walked directly into the murder site. Behind long-faded ticker tape and rust-coloured blood, an old hobo in tattered rags was staring at him in disbelief and shouting.

"Sir, it is you! I knew you'd be smart enough to return here, so I've been waiting here for you!"

Mildly disgusted by the man's smell, Andross recoiled slightly. "I don't think we've m- hold on. Did you say 'return'?"

"Why, yes sir! To the crime scene!" The 'hobo' gestured to the wrecked buildings around him.

Andross walked toward him, grasping his shoulder, as if he thought the old man - like all of his memories - was about to turn and run away, leaving him helpless and derelict.

"Who do you think I am?"

The 'hobo' laughed weakly. "You're Mr. Gabriel Andross, sir. My boss."

Andross' head began to spin, as it had done a lot of recently. "I'm sorry, I - I don't remember anything...amnesia, I think."

The 'hobo' suddenly looked at him in horror, taking in the gravity of the situation. "Oh my God, of course! The implant took your memories too...they covered all their bases, the *******s!"

"Implant?" Andross was suddenly aware of a vague headache he'd had, on and off, since he first woke. "What implant?"

The 'hobo' begun to speak, but was interrupted by the roar of three unmarked black cars pulling up nearby, and men that could only be described as suits with guns leaping out. The 'hobo' let out a terrified yelp and turned to Andross.

"Listen, and listen very carefully, sir! You did kill that senator, but it was justified! You're not Gabe Andross, the anonymous murderer, you're Gabe Andross, the noted genetic scientist and humanitarian!"

Outside the hulk of the charred building frame, the suits pulled out compact computer devices. The leader, a tall dark-skinned man with black wraparound glasses, barked orders, sending the other suits fanning out around the block.

"You were the target of Gentech - the very company that you once worked for needed to get rid of their most embarassing mistake, and to do that, they needed you gone too! So they took your attack on Graves and manipulated it into the reason to lock you up and throw away the key."

The suits were dangerously close now, no more than a building away. Andross' informant, sneaking a glance, turned back to him with a renewed sense of panic.

"Gentech controls anything and everything, Mr. Andross - by selling cerebral and genetic implants and cryogenic leases they are able to infiltrate whatever they need to. They are, at present, tracking you by an implant in your skull. That same implant will prevent you from attacking any human being, namely Gentech's lackeys, until it is removed. We need to go now - if we can escape, I'll see what I can do about removing it."

Andross nodded ineffectually. It seemed about all he could do. Suddenly, a thought popped into his mind, and he grabbed his friend's shoulder again.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled. "Bernard Hadley, sir. Your lab assistant."

"And why, Hadley? Why did they need to get rid of me?"

Hadley's face was serious. "Because your work unearthed what could well be the doom of mankind as we know it."

And with that, he ran. Andross was momentarily stunned into freezing, but as the first suit rounded the corner, gun raised, he found his muse to move...

[This message has been edited by The Last True Evil (edited January 25, 2003).]

(The board says I haven't posted new, because I simply edited the previous post, which is why this post is here.)

(NSP: In other words, BUMP. Are Richard Miller the DA and Jacob Miller the legal guy different people? The reason I ask is that I'd sort of prefer Miller (the guy I invented) to be a good guy, or at least a bystander...if it's already decided than I'll go along with it, but the similar names have me confused.)

Andross awoke in a cold sweat. Tentatively, he raised his eyelids and looked around. No guns. No mysterious men. He was on his bed, lying comfortably under the morning sun's rays.

He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, where he splashed water on his face. The water ran off of his skin and down the drain, taking the last vestiges of the dream with it. He entered the living room, and activated the television, dressing as the news came in.

It all seemed unreal to him; killing was an unimaginable act, and couldn't remember ever doing it. Was that the effect of the rehabilitation, or were those his true feelings?

"Violent street crime is down fifteen percent to its lowest point in years," said the television.

Andross wandered over to the coffee table and picked up the card Miller had left him. Reading off the numbers, he punched them into his phone. A secretary answered after the second ring, her picture appearing on the phone's screen.

"District Attorney's office," said the young woman with a disaffected air.

"I'd like to speak to Richard Miller," said Andross.

"Your name?" The woman was prompt, and efficient.

"Gabriel Andross.

"One moment." The secretary's arm moved out of view, and then Miller's face filled the screen.

"Hello, Mr. Andross. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Miller - I need to talk to you," Andross all but spat out. "About my case."

Miller frowned. "That's a bit of a long story. Was there anything in specific you wanted to know?" he asked.

"No," said Andross, "I want to hear about the whole thing. I still can't remember." Frustration crept into his tone.

"Okay, but I'll need some time to dig up the files," said Miller. "Meet me outside the courthouse at twelve o'clock."

Andross nodded, and the lawyer clicked off.

[This message has been edited by Tracer (edited January 24, 2003).]

Fellas?

Not to worry, Tracer, I will be updating this today (your today, anyway). I just want to point out - violence, although cleverly avoided in your post, will be necessary in this tale. To put your waking fears at rest, it need not be common, but rather a matter of course.

Stay tuned...

ok....my first ISB post in a loooooong time.


Richard Miller sat on the porch of his comfortable home. Although nowhere near the size of what was percieved to be 'adequate' by modern standards, his house was all he needed. And if he'd needed anything more, he would have fallen short. Money was hard to come by these days...

He vaguely recalled the days following that immense trial. It seems... so many years ago, he thought. Even to this day I'm amazed....winning such a huge case... and then, losing my whole reputation in the blink of an eye. Gentech didn't seem very sorry that I won, but to cut all funding, and all ties, right after I beat the defense for them?

He remembered his surprise at being drafted for the case, being offered 3.5million Standard Dollars to pull it off. And he had done it, despite his shock that GenTech prosecuted their own **** scientist!

Their gratitude lasted little more than a week. Then the phone calls came, the cere-mails via his head chip...

(NSP: cere-mails is kinda 'cerebrum-mails'... email in your brain, via the head chip that our beloved Senator Graves opposed)

Gentech had cut off all support, and in turn, all other major prospective clients had turned the other way. There had been rumors that they had something to hide, but what?

Bearing in mind the fact that one of their scientists had eliminated a senator, they always had seemed a completely over-the-top corporation-

His thoughts screeched to a halt as the luminescent glow of Andross's headlights washed over his porch.

*****

The smiling man shook Thompson's hand warmly, but he bore no trace of goodwill or good attitude in his eyes. He directed Thompson to a chair in front of his desk

"Have a seat, my friend", he spoke in a reverberating bass tone.

The other took the offered chair, and scanned the large man's face. No intentions could be discerned from behind the dark, wraparound sunglasses on his head.

"You have something you wished to discuss, Drake?"

"Indeed", the large man replied, his countenance slipping to one of seriousness. "We have a mutual aquaintance, yes?"

"You speak of Graves". It was not a question.

"Once again, indeed", said Drake, nodding. "An urgent matter has come up".

"His release". Once again, not a question at all. Drake eyed Thompson, wondering how much he really already knew.

"As you know, about five weeks after he unknowingly underwent the cerebral implant operation, we detected its signature. And you also know our......group spent a good deal of time and money finding the access codes. If his own employers needed to keep tabs on him for some reason, it was best that we do so as well.

"But it has reactivated", he finished.

"Dear Lord," Thompson spoke, "that can only mean that they're afraid he will do something more?"

"Or," said Drake ominously, "It is as we feared... the implant allows direct control over all higher brain functions, like Motility......or Descision making..."


*****


(NSP: bum bum bum! What I kinda went for here was this: in the past, Richard miller took the case against Andross, and won. Soon after, he was deprived of funding and relations with GenTech. Either because they had something to hide, or for another unknown reason. Secondly, Drake is something like the mysterious man in an earlie post who commanded that minion to 'bring him in'. Since he got a link to Andross's implant [because of reasons stated above], he noticed it came online, and thinks it might be because they are watching him for fear of another 'attack', or they can control him, as was feared during early experimentation those 15 years ago...NOW HAVE AT IT }

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saberopus

[This message has been edited by saberopus (edited February 14, 2003).]

(NSP)



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Matrix, anyone?

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"There are three kinds of men: Those who learn by reading, the few who learn by observing, and then there's those guys that just have to pee on the electric fence for themselves."

[This message has been edited by Big_Fry (edited July 17, 2003).]

[NB: I'm not going to recount the storyline, despite how long it has been since a post here. From the various posts to this point, it appears there are two evil parties - my advice is to leave it as such.]

Over the freeway, the sun was just beginning its fiery descent onto the horizon. Gabriel Andross leaned out of Richard Miller DA's passenger window, watching the sight, a beauty out of place in his faceless suburban sprawl. It occurred to him that he didn't even know the name of his city.

But that's the problem with this place, wasn't it? It was a city - nameless, soulless and synthetic. You were going to change all that. Gentech was your way to unite the people, genetics-

The train of thought, coming and disappearing without a trace, was alien to him. Yet as he sat up, and tried to think again, it was undeniably his logic. He was-

-disgusted with the way the world is headed. We were on the right track - humanity found its better half, the realm of technology - and then, as we found the key to merge organics and technology, genetics, we lost focus. We devoted our existence to this technology, overcompensated. I was about to change all that, unite the people with genetics and I did it, my prized achievement-

The thought broke again in his head. Andross pounded the dashboard in frustration; that had been a very important train of thought.

Miller noticed the visible frustration. "Upholstery not to your liking?"

"Something's not right, Miller." Andross eyed the horizon intently. "Your expulsion from Gentech after handling my case, my case itself, the murder of the anti-geneticist Graves...it's linked."

"Andross, please!" Miller shook his head, smirking. "I understand your disorientation, but misfortune is all that befell us. Remember, Graves was against your life's work, your most passionate goal of genetics - if you didn't do it, Andross, you paid someone to do it and then got them to smear blood all over you, not to mention hand you the murder weapon!"

"How did I do it?" Andross realised he had never been told.

"You stabbed him to death. With a surgical drill from your workplace. With your name-tag on it. We have at least five security guard witnesses who report you leaving Gentech that night with the drill in your hands."

Andross stared ahead. All right, I killed Graves. I wanted him gone - the guy was creating a lot of trouble for me, right when-

myboymyboymyspecialspecialboynothingbutthebestformyspecialspecialboy

Andross' blood went cold. He knew that rhyme. He could even remember the way he sung it. But who did he sing it to?

My special boy, of course. The pride of my life's achievement. A miracle of modern genetic cerebro-structuring and nanotechnology. But of course, some took issue with him - with us. There was Graves, of course, and all of his men. But he wasn't the only problem, was he? There was-

Predictably, there was a vacant gap in his thoughts, but a more noticeable one, as if someone had forcibly excavated that section of his brain.

Andross sighed. He told Miller to take him straight home - he was beginning to have an ominous feeling that the answers to his questions would need to come soon, or not at all...