FanFic: (Non PSO): Random Retribution. Chapter 2 Up!

[Solstis]

I'm just testing the waters here with this first chapter of a story.

In depth editing would be lovely.

http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_eek.gif



Random Retribution



Chapter 1: The King of Kleaning


Cyrus Merks, a doddering old man, was once considered the "King of Kleaning," a title self bestowed during television commercials and printed on newspaper advertisements. Now, though, Merk's cleaners was an empty shell, now devoid of the customers and hired assistants that once livened it's main lobby.

Merk largely blamed competition that had sauntered in around a few years ago, strangling his business with its convenient location next to a local supermarket. At least, this is what Merk claimed during his sane moments. In times that some initially viewed as charming, and later somewhat alarming, Merk held tight to his suspicion that government agencies were watching him.

In truth, no one was quite sure what business Cyrus had participated in, the only answer he gave when asked was generally an incomprehensible murmur. His wife, now dead for four years to this date, claimed that her husband had participated in construction contracts prior, though she could not explain his lengthy absences or the apparent lack of fruition. Not a single person in the city saw any results of his construction, leaving the gossips of the town quite a doozy of a topic.

In any case, Cyrus was surprised one afternoon by a bright, cheery tingling sound, a sound he had loved during his business' boom days. Despite the front door having not been opened in a long time (Cyrus entered and exited via the back door), the door chime's little peal still held the same resounding tenor.

The originator of the noise was a well dressed, tall, brown skinned man. On his nose rested a pair of flashy and most likely expensive sunglasses, accenting his tailor-cut fine Italian suit. His shoes appeared to shine in the dim light, giving off an aura of refined splendor and the gaudy excess of the rich. With all his yuppie wear, the man looked terribly out of place in the decrepit establishment.
Cyrus stared at the man who had intruded on his contemplations, almost considering a rude insult before realizing that a potential customer had
arrived.

"Hello good sir! Welcome to Kleaning Central!"

Instead of replying, the be-suited man tilted his head, as if questioning the logic of the statement, apparently noting the owner's mistake. For a few moments he held his gaze, his eyes and true discretion hid behind his lenses.

Cyrus tensed for a moment, as if suddenly realizing what was about to happen. Deciding on a course of action, he swooped under the desk, narrowly missing the opportunity to catch a bullet in the shoulder.
The man in the suit strode up to the counter, his leather shoes creating a noise similar to that of a carriage horse. Instead of delivering happy couples, the man seemed to only to dole out death.

If Cyrus had the time to look, he would have noticed a large "Z" etched into the right side of the attacker?s gun, but, he found himself preoccupied with his survival instincts. The gun's etching had all the looks of something recent, but the gun model that of an old World War II era Colt .45, and was in great condition.

"Now you remember, don't you? I let you escape once that one time, but don't expect any pit now."

As soon as the man finished his short statement, Cyrus leapt up from behind the counter, wielding a shotgun with both of his hands. Cyrus also had a pistol under the counter, but lacked the sufficient number of body parts to wield it, though, in his head, he wondered if a robotic arm would have been useful.

"Sol...!"

Cyrus' declaration was cut off by an impromptu bullet, striking him down where he stood. If he was still alive, Cyrus Merks would have noticed the irony of the situation. It was just four years ago to this day that his wife had been killed by the very same gun, and in the very same manner. As many poets could attend to, Fate often held a long cruel streak.

"You can call me Suit."

---

Eduardo Rodrico was once considered the best writer in his state, a prestigious title he still wished he had. A prodigy born from an artistic family, he was taught from a young age that he would use his artistic talents to become just as famous as his parents. At the relatively young age of twenty-one, his first book had reached critical acclaim.

However, alcohol and wild parties reduced Eduardo's mind to an incoherent mush for the last four years.
Now, nearly penniless and jobless, Rodrico sat on a park bench just outside of King Kleaners, a quiet spot where he often scribbled his thoughts down on a pad of paper. This morning, however, was a bit different.

Not only did two gunshots pierce the air, the second only a few seconds apart from the first, but the building before him subsequently exploded. In his writer's mind, Eduardo pictured a man impressively strutting out of the flames, wreathed in the tools of his destruction. Instead, he was treated to the sight of a man running out of the chaos screaming random obscenities, his arms flailing about like a windmill.

When the man stopped running a few seconds later, having noticed that he was not on fire at all, he smirked at Eduardo and pointed at the burning building.

"Short fuse."

Eduardo nodded, feeling the inner workings of his mind beginning to spin, a handy source of inspiration occurring just in front of him.
Suit planted his hands on his knees, kneeling over and gasping for air.

"You didn't see anything, right?"

Eduardo absently nodded, already thinking of what plot machinations would have to occur in order for such an explosion to be necessary.

"You may want to, I dunno, leave before the police arrive?"

By now, Suit was growing antsy, and wished to head to the hills before the ineffectual authorities came.

"Huh?"

Annoyed, Suit fired a third bullet, blowing a nicely sized hole in Eduardo's head. Subconsciously, the killer wished that there was a ruler or tape measurer around. Then again, that was just one of the various voices that each man or woman has within. In fact, one of the little voices was telling him to run away, and yet another insisted that he stop at a local food joint. During a particularly boring day, Suit calculated that he had about forty voices, and split them into three different categories; Evil, Neutral, and Good. A budding psychology major would have enjoyed such a patient.

"Idiot."

Suit walked away from the scene with an unerring sense of duty. His job was to cut loose ends, no matter the danger or possibilities of implications. In this case, pesky reporters may need silencing, the police officers that dealt with the investigation, their immediate family members...

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

A familiar sounding voice interrupted Suit's rambling mind.

"Hello?"

Suit looked at Eduardo who was, apparently, very much alive.

"Anyway, as a writer and a bit of a journalist, I feel compelled to catalogue your adventures."

Eduardo leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"You do plan on having future escapades, correct?"

Suit smirked and shrugged at his new accomplice.




<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Solstis on 2004-09-09 21:27 ]</font>

[Sagasu]

Depth eh?



Cyrus Merks, a doddering old man, was once considered the "King of Kleaning," a title self bestowed during television commercials and printed on newspaper advertisements. Now, though, Merk's cleaners was an empty shell, now devoid of the customers and hired assistants that once livened it's main lobby.

Merk largely blamed competition that had sauntered in around a few years ago, strangling his business with its convenient location next to a local supermarket. At least, this is what Merk claimed during his sane moments. In times that some initially viewed as charming, and later somewhat alarming, Merk held tight to his suspicion that government agencies were watching him.

If theres one thing I've preached about extensively, its redundancy. As you can see, I've put the over-used word in bold. Its up to you to decide if you want to do some re-wording or not. Sentences: 5 | Merk: 5.

Your averaging at one merk per sentence here http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_frown.gif

Another thing I've noticed is that you have quite the comma fetish, to put in a visual aid, I have also put all the commas in bold. Sentences : 5 | Commas : 10

Now I'm not sure this is a trait true to your style, or is just a habit. But it does make the flow of the story quite choppy, which is generally a bad thing. There where also two "now"'s in the second sentence, thus illustrated in italics.



In truth, no one was quite sure what business Cyrus had participated in, the only answer he gave when asked was generally an incomprehensible murmur. His wife, now dead for four years to this date, claimed that her husband had participated in construction contracts prior, though she could not explain his lengthy absences or the apparent lack of fruition. Not a single person in the city saw any results of his construction, leaving the gossips of the town quite a doozy of a topic.

In any case, Cyrus was surprised one afternoon by a bright, cheery tingling sound, a sound he had loved during his business' boom days. Despite the front door having not been opened in a long time (Cyrus entered and exited via the back door), the door chime's little peal still held the same resounding tenor.


Sentence: 5 | Comma : 10 (again) = http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_nono.gif

Nice details though.



The originator of the noise was a well dressed, tall, brown skinned man. On his nose rested a pair of flashy and most likely expensive sunglasses, accenting his tailor-cut fine Italian suit. His shoes appeared to shine in the dim light, giving off an aura of refined splendor and the gaudy excess of the rich. With all his yuppie wear, the man looked terribly out of place in the decrepit establishment.
Cyrus stared at the man who had intruded on his contemplations, almost considering a rude insult before realizing that a potential customer had
arrived.

"Hello good sir! Welcome to Kleaning Central!"

Hmms..

After you go through, explaining the elegance of this mans clothing, you go in and use a slang term. This kinda offsets things, and just struck me as odd when I read through. And, Cyrus was already (apparently) perked up by the sound of someone coming through the door, this in itself might signify that a costomer had indeed entered the shop. So the sentence in italics is also somewhat odd, seeing that he was joyous when the bell rang.

Odd but not wrong. Its up to you to change as you see fit.



Instead of replying, the be-suited man tilted his head, as if questioning the logic of the statement, apparently noting the owner's mistake. For a few moments he held his gaze, his eyes and true discretion hid behind his lenses.

Cyrus tensed for a moment, as if suddenly realizing what was about to happen. Deciding on a course of action, he swooped under the desk, narrowly missing the opportunity to catch a bullet in the shoulder.
The man in the suit strode up to the counter, his leather shoes creating a noise similar to that of a carriage horse. Instead of delivering happy couples, the man seemed to only to dole out death.

Action = Good http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_smile.gif

Though the man just standing there, to me anyway, doesn't seem like a etched out sign that your about to get shot.



If Cyrus had the time to look, he would have noticed a large "Z" etched into the right side of the attacker?s gun, but, he found himself preoccupied with his survival instincts. The gun's etching had all the looks of something recent, but the gun model that of an old World War II era Colt .45, and was in great condition.

"Now you remember, don't you? I let you escape once that one time, but don't expect any pit now."

A few of your ' have turned to ?, even word pad isn't perfect.

And I do believe that pit was meant to be pity.



As soon as the man finished his short statement, Cyrus leapt up from behind the counter, wielding a shotgun with both of his hands. Cyrus also had a pistol under the counter, but lacked the sufficient number of body parts to wield it, though, in his head, he wondered if a robotic arm would have been useful.

One, comma fetish.

Two, it is quite possible to fire a pistol with one hand. If there are other details that explain why he cannot, it would be best to elaborate so they are understood.



"Sol...!"

Cyrus' declaration was cut off by an impromptu bullet, striking him down where he stood. If he was still alive, Cyrus Merks would have noticed the irony of the situation. It was just four years ago to this day that his wife had been killed by the very same gun, and in the very same manner. As many poets could attend to, Fate often held a long cruel streak.

"You can call me Suit."

Ark...! *gets shot* http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif

Yay! You've got some tension and questions already piled up, making the reader want more. Nicely done ^_^



---

Eduardo Rodrico was once considered the best writer in his state, a prestigious title he still wished he had. A prodigy born from an artistic family, he was taught from a young age that he would use his artistic talents to become just as famous as his parents. At the relatively young age of twenty-one, his first book had reached critical acclaim.

However, alcohol and wild parties reduced Eduardo's mind to an incoherent mush for the last four years.
Now, nearly penniless and jobless, Rodrico sat on a park bench just outside of King Kleaners, a quiet spot where he often scribbled his thoughts down on a pad of paper. This morning, however, was a bit different.

Wait, wait. He became an accomplished writer, and then decided to get wasted all the time? Usually depressed people drink their money, I don't see why this guys has reason too..



Not only did two gunshots pierce the air, the second only a few seconds apart from the first, but the building before him subsequently exploded. In his writer's mind, Eduardo pictured a man impressively strutting out of the flames, wreathed in the tools of his destruction. Instead, he was treated to the sight of a man running out of the chaos screaming random obscenities, his arms flailing about like a windmill.

The bold area might want to be re-worded. But an interesting twist, none-the-less.



When the man stopped running a few seconds later, having noticed that he was not on fire at all, he smirked at Eduardo and pointed at the burning building.

"Short fuse."

Eduardo nodded, feeling the inner workings of his mind beginning to spin, a handy source of inspiration occurring just in front of him.
Suit planted his hands on his knees, kneeling over and gasping for air.

"You didn't see anything, right?"

Eduardo absently nodded, already thinking of what plot machinations would have to occur in order for such an explosion to be necessary.

"You may want to, I dunno, leave before the police arrive?"

By now, Suit was growing antsy, and wished to head to the hills before the ineffectual authorities came.

"Huh?"

I got kinda confused who was saying what at this point and time. You might want to add some "he said, she said" to clarify the situation a little.



Annoyed, Suit fired a third bullet, blowing a nicely sized hole in Eduardo's head. Subconsciously, the killer wished that there was a ruler or tape measurer around. Then again, that was just one of the various voices that each man or woman has within. In fact, one of the little voices was telling him to run away, and yet another insisted that he stop at a local food joint. During a particularly boring day, Suit calculated that he had about forty voices, and split them into three different categories; Evil, Neutral, and Good. A budding psychology major would have enjoyed such a patient.

"Idiot."

Woah, I thought that they where partners or something. Isuppose I got the misconception from Suit bothering to talk to Eduardo at all http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/anime2.gif

Doesn't seem very criminal like to converse like that and then kill the guy -_-



Suit walked away from the scene with an unerring sense of duty. His job was to cut loose ends, no matter the danger or possibilities of implications. In this case, pesky reporters may need silencing, the police officers that dealt with the investigation, their immediate family members...

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

A familiar sounding voice interrupted Suit's rambling mind.

"Hello?"

Suit looked at Eduardo who was, apparently, very much alive.

"Anyway, as a writer and a bit of a journalist, I feel compelled to catalogue your adventures."

Eduardo leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"You do plan on having future escapades, correct?"

Suit smirked and shrugged at his new accomplice.

http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_eek.gif

This man.. survived a bullet to the head..

How?

Eh, untill the end here things went rather nicely. Good work, Solstis. ^_^

[Solstis]

On 2004-09-06 20:25, Sagasu wrote:



Suit walked away from the scene with an unerring sense of duty. His job was to cut loose ends, no matter the danger or possibilities of implications. In this case, pesky reporters may need silencing, the police officers that dealt with the investigation, their immediate family members...

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

A familiar sounding voice interrupted Suit's rambling mind.

"Hello?"

Suit looked at Eduardo who was, apparently, very much alive.

"Anyway, as a writer and a bit of a journalist, I feel compelled to catalogue your adventures."

Eduardo leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"You do plan on having future escapades, correct?"

Suit smirked and shrugged at his new accomplice.

http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_eek.gif

This man.. survived a bullet to the head..

How?

Eh, untill the end here things went rather nicely. Good work, Solstis. ^_^



Oops. He was never shot after all.

Crap.

I guess I didn't make that clear.

Thanks Sagasu!

And yes, I do have a comma fetish.

I'll work on that... (but I liiiike commas!)

[Sagasu]

Thats what I'm here for.

And now, I need to take a look at all these other fictions that have piled up.

[Solstis]

Notes: The latter parts of this chapter were NOT proofread by me.

Also, the first part of it is somewhat... weak.

That, and Crankshaft was somewhat of an inspiration for Eduardo.

-----

Chapter 2: Quietly Stirring Dust


A man dressed in a long trench coat kneeled on a hill surveying the scene. He pressed an unseen button at his ear, and muttered into a hidden mouthpiece sewed in the seam of his suit.

"The target has made his first move. Is Team A ready?"

The man nearly jumped at the loud and insistent response.

"Team A has been incapacitated due to an automobile accident. Fortunately, Team B is ready."

The team in question was a trio of highly trained females, each with the honed skills of a professional assassin. Two of the women were the original members of the group; Lera and Mielka. Margaret, the newest member, was apparently one of several other women their benefactors had on call in case of death or incapacitation. Though a morally bankrupt practice, the organization in question never had any difficulty in maintaining a high profile in the assassin's sphere.

A woman clad in what appeared to be an impossibly tight leather garment stepped out of the shadows, walking right behind the man. Across her body were slung two holsters with black straps, a few ammunition clips strung along the side. The straps were necessary steps when dealing with a dearth of pocket space, and despite a clich?eel, were a common part of every female assassin?s attire.

"Agent Lera asking permission to silence the target alone."

The be-trench coated man flashed a quick smile, not at all surprised by the agent's actions.

"Permission granted."

--

Despite the fact that Suit was wanted by both the police and a shadowy group of assassins, he maintained a relatively high profile life. The apartment complex he lived in, Le Chez, was so highly regarded that the word "apartment" was banned from its corridors. The staff of the establishment; from the lofty management to the lowly bellhop, all considered their establishment to be far above the "plebian" term.

Eduardo took all of this information in as Suit led him up to the room, only pausing in his scribblings as Suit briefly stopped to speak to each staff member, knowing each by name. Slowly, Eduardo began to understand how a man with a high price on his head could stay hidden.

Once in the murderer's room, Eduardo immediately claimed one of Suit's couches (the man owned many pieces of upholstery), and reclined in a relaxed manner. This action elicited a raised eyebrow, but no voice of dissension from Suit.

Eduardo stared at the ceiling lazily as Suit went to shower, just imagining all the love, intrigue, foreshadowing and dialogue that could go into his new project. As dust swirled in the air, moved to motion by Eduardo's breath, the author pictured the tale in his mind's eye.

It was in this position that Eduardo woke up the next morning. Suit stood hovered above his waking form, as if studying him.

The gunman was the first to break the silence.

"I think that I have some clothes that will fit you. We'll be heading out into the Old Adobe Village as soon as you get dressed."

Eduardo stood up, stretching his arms in a futile effort to fully awaken. As he stretched, he noticed that Suit no longer held a posh look. He now wore a seemingly comfortable pair of jeans, white sneakers, and an almost tourist like shirt that had the words "Wow!" printed on the front. If it was not for his trademark sunglasses, Suit would have been almost unrecognizable.

"I believe in style, but I am not an impractical man." Suit stated, answering Eduardo's brewing question. "Now hurry up and get dressed!"

--

Solstis led his author companion through twisting, narrow alleyways, barely pausing for breath. Though Eduardo had been an at least competent swimmer in his high school days, he now found himself quickly running out of breath.

Suit was right in his prediction that the day would be unbearably hot, and in this moment, Eduardo found himself grateful that Suit had lent him some lighter clothes.

After what the author had deemed to be an hour, which in fact, was ten minutes, Suit paused in front of a particular door. It was an old, weathered device, and the orifice it guarded was beginning to crumble. Suit stared at the door for a few minutes, perhaps reflecting on some long hidden memory before kicking the door open with a grunt.

Remarkably, Suit managed to kick the door open with his right foot, pull a pistol out of its respective spot on his left hip with his right hand, lift a shotgun from its position on his back with his left hand and over his head; all the while keeping his balance.

He first fired the pistol four times, subsequently fired the shotgun once, cocked the shotgun with the pistol, and fired another round into the dusty environment before him. When the smoke cleared, Eduardo saw a neatly perforated, and assumedly lifeless body. Actually, he would have seen this sight if it was not for the fact that the body had been blown out of an old Spanish style window.

"Who was it?" asked Eduardo as he leaned curiously over the window sill.

"Nothing more than a machine."

The writer cocked his head at this, visibly confused.

"In all my days... I have never seen a machine bleed so vibrantly before."

It was Suit's turn to cock his head, his features somewhat amused.

"A machine in a sense. He was not much different from me."

Eduardo's face wrinkled somewhat, as if out of distaste.

Suit shrugged at this, and walked out of the still dusty building. The adobe structure, despite the battle, was not the worse for wear. It still held a dignified sort of old world aura about it, in fact. At least, this is what Eduardo jotted down in his notebook, nearly spending a page describing the architecture involved.

"Eduardo. Knife."

After making this statement, Suit extended his arm and fired another bullet from his pistol, shattering a bladed projectile that was heading toward Eduardo's head.

"Knives. A definite sign of Team A."

Suit, no longer paying attention to his companion, slowly walked out into an adjoining dirt road, the dust laden wind whipping his hair about and tugging slightly at his glasses. As if waiting for him, a woman wearing a long tan trench coat and leather fedora stood on the opposite end. The two stood motionless for nearly a minute, either strategizing or calming their nerves.

"Solstice... it has been a long time."

The woman spoke, breaking the silence first.
Suit, or Solstice, rather, blinked rapidly for a few moments.

"I have no idea who you are."

The female warrior balked at this statement, her steely façade unraveling.

"And for another matter, why are you here?" a third voice shouted. "This job is under my venue!"

As the voice neared, the originator was revealed to be Lera, still wearing her leather gear.

"Team A is much too inept for this operation. Remove your remaining members from this area at once." Lera moved her hand in an expressive arc and lowered her tone. "Remember that I outrank you."

The opposing woman curled her lip up in a snarl for a moment before turning around and stomping her foot. As she walked off into the wastes she muttered an impressively long string of curses.

"Now, as for you."

Lera turned to where Suit had been standing a few moments ago. Apparently, the gunman had left a few seconds into the argument, his footprints already vanishing with the shifting dust and sand.

--


okay, done now. Before it wasn't.

Notice though, this was written at 1:30 a.m. +



<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Solstis on 2004-09-09 21:29 ]</font>


<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Solstis on 2004-09-09 23:08 ]</font>

[mr_rubbish]

I may regret offering to critique people. This is almost like poetic justice http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif

Anyway...

chapter 1


As soon as the man finished his short statement, Cyrus leapt up from behind the counter, wielding a shotgun with both of his hands. Cyrus also had a pistol under the counter, but lacked the sufficient number of body parts to wield it, though, in his head, he wondered if a robotic arm would have been useful.WTH? He has two hands to use a shotgun but can't use a pistol because he doesn't have enough hands? He wants 3 hands?
--

Hmmm, hallucinations...



Annoyed, Suit fired a third bullet, blowing a nicely sized hole in Eduardo's head.

Oops. He was never shot after all.

Crap.

I guess I didn't make that clear.
Excuse me? So Eduardo didn't get shot? I think you made it quite clear that he did!


chapter 2

Suit/Solstis is insane right? He is letting someone follow him around while he commits crimes, irrespective of whether Eduardo would impede him or increase his visibility and the fact that he will make an excellent witness should he be arrested.

--

Suit managed to kick the door open with his right foot, pull a pistol out of its respective spot on his left hip with his right hand, lift a shotgun from its position on his back with his left hand and over his headSuit is walking around with a shotgun strapped to his back? did anyone notice?
--

After making this statement, Suit extended his arm and fired another bullet from his pistol, shattering a bladed projectile that was heading toward Eduardo's head. Just a thought, but wouldn't the assassin target Suit and not a bystander? Why only throw one knife? why use a knife when a gun would have done the job already? how come the knife was moving slowly enough that suit could warn Eduardo and then shoot it out of the air?
--

Solstis led his author companion... "[b]Solstice... it has been a long time."How do you spell his name? I would think that being called Solstis yourself, you wouldn't have that kind of difficulty.
--

As if waiting for him, a woman wearing a long tan trench coat and leather fedora stood on the opposite end.How far away is this woman since she tries to kill by long distance knife throw?

-------------------------
So what do I think?
It's non-PSO so it's not normally something i'd look at on these boards but its quite reasonable. Little hints here and there hook the reader. Well done.
However, you are lacking appropriate details. A description for the locale of the hit in chapter 2 would allow me to visualise the standoff at the end. As it is i pictured an old-west sunset-style cowboy shoot-out scene.

ADD MORE DETAILS!

What is not so good is some of the carelessness in the logic (though i have worded that a little strong).

General advice:

IF YOU ARE WRITING AT 1 IN THE MORNING SAVE YOUR WORK AND THEN PROOFREAD IT AND THEN POST IT THE NEXT DAY!
This message also goes out to any other writers reading this that follow a similar practice. There should be no excuse such as... "But it was late at night!"

If it is late a night then don't post it yet. If reflects poorly on your skills if you have to go in and make corrections that you would have caught if you had proof-read it. Plus readers are HIGHLY unlikely to re-read chapters that they have already read. While no one is perfect I will be especially critical of errors made under the above circustances. Writers here are not being paid for their work, they have no deadlines, so they should be taking their time!

Please note Solstis that the rant above was not totally directed at you but I'm mentioning here since there seems to be an increase in this sort of thing.

Finally...
This has given me an idea for a novella that someone else could write. A hitman shoots someone only for their ghost to follow them (like in the 'mistake' from chapter 1) the ghost would help the hitman but only to secretly right his wrong-doings before leading him into a suitably grisly ending.

PS roll on chapter 3

[Solstis]

On 2004-09-11 04:48, mr_rubbish wrote:
I may regret offering to critique people. This is almost like poetic justice http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif

Anyway...

chapter 1


As soon as the man finished his short statement, Cyrus leapt up from behind the counter, wielding a shotgun with both of his hands. Cyrus also had a pistol under the counter, but lacked the sufficient number of body parts to wield it, though, in his head, he wondered if a robotic arm would have been useful.WTH? He has two hands to use a shotgun but can't use a pistol because he doesn't have enough hands? He wants 3 hands?
--

Hmmm, hallucinations...



Annoyed, Suit fired a third bullet, blowing a nicely sized hole in Eduardo's head.

Oops. He was never shot after all.

Crap.

I guess I didn't make that clear.
Excuse me? So Eduardo didn't get shot? I think you made it quite clear that he did!


chapter 2

Suit/Solstis is insane right? He is letting someone follow him around while he commits crimes, irrespective of whether Eduardo would impede him or increase his visibility and the fact that he will make an excellent witness should he be arrested.

--

Suit managed to kick the door open with his right foot, pull a pistol out of its respective spot on his left hip with his right hand, lift a shotgun from its position on his back with his left hand and over his headSuit is walking around with a shotgun strapped to his back? did anyone notice?
--

After making this statement, Suit extended his arm and fired another bullet from his pistol, shattering a bladed projectile that was heading toward Eduardo's head. Just a thought, but wouldn't the assassin target Suit and not a bystander? Why only throw one knife? why use a knife when a gun would have done the job already? how come the knife was moving slowly enough that suit could warn Eduardo and then shoot it out of the air?
--

Solstis led his author companion... "[b]Solstice... it has been a long time."How do you spell his name? I would think that being called Solstis yourself, you wouldn't have that kind of difficulty.
--

As if waiting for him, a woman wearing a long tan trench coat and leather fedora stood on the opposite end.How far away is this woman since she tries to kill by long distance knife throw?

-------------------------
So what do I think?
It's non-PSO so it's not normally something i'd look at on these boards but its quite reasonable. Little hints here and there hook the reader. Well done.
However, you are lacking appropriate details. A description for the locale of the hit in chapter 2 would allow me to visualise the standoff at the end. As it is i pictured an old-west sunset-style cowboy shoot-out scene.

ADD MORE DETAILS!

What is not so good is some of the carelessness in the logic (though i have worded that a little strong).

General advice:

IF YOU ARE WRITING AT 1 IN THE MORNING SAVE YOUR WORK AND THEN PROOFREAD IT AND THEN POST IT THE NEXT DAY!
This message also goes out to any other writers reading this that follow a similar practice. There should be no excuse such as... "But it was late at night!"

If it is late a night then don't post it yet. If reflects poorly on your skills if you have to go in and make corrections that you would have caught if you had proof-read it. Plus readers are HIGHLY unlikely to re-read chapters that they have already read. While no one is perfect I will be especially critical of errors made under the above circustances. Writers here are not being paid for their work, they have no deadlines, so they should be taking their time!

Please note Solstis that the rant above was not totally directed at you but I'm mentioning here since there seems to be an increase in this sort of thing.

Finally...
This has given me an idea for a novella that someone else could write. A hitman shoots someone only for their ghost to follow them (like in the 'mistake' from chapter 1) the ghost would help the hitman but only to secretly right his wrong-doings before leading him into a suitably grisly ending.

PS roll on chapter 3



You were expecting a logical story?

However, your legendary proof-reading skillz are valued, and I will definitely attempt to cater to your needs (j/k).

As for Chapter 3? I have to dream it up first. I am writing this tale VERY slowly, especially when compared to my Fan-Fics (1 chapter a day to 1 a week).

[edit]: it was meant to be an old west style cowboy scene, lol.

And thanks Rubbish. I will keep in mind the need for more details. (I stink at details... and look, that period is in the wrong spot!)


<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Solstis on 2004-09-11 11:36 ]</font>