Cyborg, Savant, Assassin?

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Cyborg, Savant, Assassin?

Post by Guest on Mon 1 Sep 2008 - 2:29

I am hereby announcing a new OC fratello. Here is where I will post chapters for advice and beta-read before (IOW, you won't see final drafts here, nothing close).

I will just say one thing before you read...

The Colonel has returned.


“Pricilla reporting, sir,” the agent said walking into Lorenzo’s office.

“Pricilla,” Lorenzo said a bit enthusiastic, “please, have a seat.”

“I guess I’m not in trouble, huh,” she said cheerfully.

“Certainly not. I’m rather low on time, so we need to move to the point. With the number of fratello growing, and the agency’ talking about expansion, it comes to my understanding we could use some more help around here.”

Pricilla’s first thought was a raise for taking an extra job. Afterall, multitasking was her favorite thing. Her eyes got filled with gleaming hope. She crinkled her pants with her fingers.

“I am willing to give you a raise, but you have to be willing to hide this fact, because you will be paid a fair amount more. However,” he cleared his throat, “This won’t come for free.”

“Oh, thank you so much sir! No matter the task, I am on it the moment I walk out of your office!”
Lorenzo stared at her for a few brief moments. The lack of marriage, he believed, was the reason for her immaturity and constant wave of energy, something that could be utilized.

“Yes,” Lorenzo replied. “But, I wouldn’t be too hasty to receive your new job.”

“Oh, but the agency has been keeping me well! I want to put more effort in return.”

“As a fratello handler.”

“Oh, thank you sir!” she stood up and shook his hand. “I… a what?”

“Fratello handler.”

Priscilla’s eyes widened, pausing and running with thoughts. Her blank stare into the floor and into the request deepened. “Sir, I’m not…”

“I guess you’re not understanding exactly what I mean. We could really use you, Priscilla.”

“My combat experience is limited…”

“It isn’t your combat skills I need.”


“If you agree to take the job, Jean will explain on the way to the hospital.”


The English brown-haired girl was wheeled to the platform, smiling, but with a cast on her left foot.

“Miss Rose Caval, ladies and gentlemen! The smartest child on the planet!” An announcer shouted.
The audience stood and cheered. The fifteen-year-old waved.

“Now then,” the American show host started pacing about the stage, “folks, watch and be jealous. She has accomplished eight college degrees, speaks eleven different languages, wrote five books, a best-seller self-help, and three part of a teen romance series, Has read twenty volumes of encyclopedias, has helped scientists design a long distance satellite, named The Rose in her honor, and founded her own museum of science and history, writing out every plaque and designing the architecture of the building! Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Run,” she replied.

The host covered his mouth and coughed in embarrassment. Her parents resifted their position.

The girl turned her head and slightly frowned, not at his statement, but at her response. “Just because you say, ‘I can’ does not mean you can. Put your mind to it, and accomplish it. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Use what you have, to the fullest of your ability. Be yourself, and you can accomplish the highest standards.”

The host bent low and put a hand on her shoulder as the audience cheered. He whispered ‘thank you’.

“Now, Jeff and Tracy, tell us a little bit about your adventure…”

Back behind the stage outside, a chubby security guard sat down having a smoke. The door behind him opened.

“Taking a smoke while the show’s in progress?” he asked.

The man quickly stood. “Is it on?”

“Don’t play stupid, Ted. And you’re cool with me.”

“Ah, Rudy,” he said sitting back down on the edge of the concrete rise to the building’s first floor.
“You came out here looking for an excuse, aren’t you?”

“More or less,” Rudy replied flicking a liter.

A white semi-truck rumbled its way forward and paused. Blaring warning sirens announcing the reverse gear before it lurched slowly backwards towards the back entrance.

“Wait,” Ted stood and tossed the cigarette butt. “We don’t get shipping orders while a show is in progress.”

“Maybe it showed up late,” Rudy replied. “We were supposed to get some stuff yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, let’s let him know.”

The man in the truck jumped out and began strolling up the ramp, an extra large black t-shirt hanging over his waist, lazily swaying with the wind. His face was unshaved and eyes black.

“Sorry sir,” Ted stated, “There’s a show in progress.”

“Oh,” the guy put his hands on his hips when he came within a few steps. “is that so? Well, what am I supposed to do?” he responded in a strong Italian accent.

“We have a parking area for the trucks over there,” Ted replied pointing around the station.

“Oh, I didn’t see it. Could you give me some directions?”

“Directions?” Rudy replied huffing out some smoke. He took two steps forward towards the man, raising his arm and pointing. “Just over…”

The driver lashed his left hand out, grabbing the guard’s wrist and pulling him down the ramp causing him to roll. He slammed his boot into his neck before leaping after Ted. Ted grabbed for his baton when a 7” blade withdrew and chunked up his jaw, through his tongue, and into his mouth. Before blood began flowing down his neck as he struggled to speak, the attacker rammed a palm strike into his neck. The guard on the ramp shakily moved his hand around his belt for the radio.
Blackbeard turned and calmly walked up to the man on the ground. He then began to rapidly kick him, in the face, the stomach, the back, the crotch, and snapped his knee out of place. He pulled a smaller knife stuffed in his boot and shaved out his Adam’s apple.
He then unsecured the latch and pulled up.

“Ora! Ora! Ora!”

The boxes inside opened up and 14 men climbed out, each with black ski masks over their faces. AK-74s, a Tavor STAR 21, and a few with Galil MAR rifles appeared. Another two stripped a box open, spilling out an RPG-7, one with four rounds hanging off his back.
On each of their heads was a triangular symbol of three red boxes linked by white chains. Thin black letters spelled out “C R G”.

The crowd clapped and cheered again. An eight-year-old in the audience crossed her arms as her father stood and clapped with the rest. She looked away. “Lily, behave,” the father instructed.

“I just wanna leave,” she fussed. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Honey, if you want to be on T.V., act straight.”

“Please? Please! Please!”

“Ok, but just this once. Be back here in six minutes.”

“Six minutes, ok,” she said.

Lily entered into the outer part of the studio/theater, looking around for the bathrooms. She glanced at the sign and purposefully moved in the opposite direction. She explored the hallways.
I just want to leave. If I can just get lost, maybe I won’t have to stay in there that long.

“EMPLOYEES ONLY” was the labeled door in front of her. She looked both ways and entered.

You don't think I'll leave you hanging, now do I? Well, I will! Muwahahaha!

Last edited by Colonel Marksman on Mon 1 Sep 2008 - 2:40; edited 1 time in total


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Re: Cyborg, Savant, Assassin?

Post by Guest on Mon 1 Sep 2008 - 2:35

Ok, Ok, I'm not THAT cruel... (quickly hides from everyone in his hole in the ground to protect self from upcoming reviews.)


A security guard took a sip of coffee staring at the various cameras. A camera showing the back hallways blipped out.

He swore God’s name and lifted the radio in front of him. “We have a blackout cam, number seven.”

Another one became fuzzy and also flashed off.

“And eight.”

“I‘ll check it out,” a voice on the radio echoed.


The girl ventured deeper into the white hallway. A blue uniformed elderly man briskly clampered down the steps and into view. He passed through a door and back out. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Yes sir?” Lily innocently responded.

“Are you lost? You’re not supposed to beee!”

He huffed a moan and then yelled a moment.

“Sir?” Lily asked. “Sir!” She ran towards him.

The father looked at his watch. Seven minutes have passed. Where is she?

Screams from outside were hardly audible, as the room was designed to be sound proof. A few people looked up at the doorways and then back on stage.

“Yes,” the mother stated. “We know that Rose will have a long, productive, and meaningful life, more than our hopes ever dreamed!”

The lights went out. The room remained dark for a few seconds. A door cracked open letting in a glimpse of light. Two cylindrical objects clattered against steps and down towards the center of the room.

A crack of thunder split the ears of the audience with a flare of the sun. Everyone screamed and hugged the floor.

Lily’s father stood but did not move. He placed his hands on his head and began feeling his body. His eyes waved, looking about, but he couldn’t see anything but a world of pure white. Faint shouting in the distance. The screams of people, and then a strong voice. Like a dream, it demanded he come back to earth.
He closed his eyes and rubbed on his ears. He felt a small knob of some sort press up against the back of his head. His thoughts organized themselves, shuffling into ideas, fears, and reality.

“Get on the ground! Get down on the ground!”

He shakily knelt, hands in the air. The object behind him gained distance. His first thought were terrorists.

“Face to the ground! Hands on the floor!”

Terrorists? In America? He next thought an arrest was underway.

“Daddy!” a familiar voice pleaded.

“Lily? Lily is that you?”

He eyes focused on the chairs and the people around him.


“Where’s your daddy?” a snarling hiss demanded.

“Lily! Lily, my daughter!”

He felt four hands rub against his back and thrust him upward. He looked around. Just over a hundred people were laying on the ground. Women were sobbing. On stage, he saw Rose Caval in her wheelchair being wheeled away behind stage. A man with an AK-74 approached, a fat suppressor engulfing his barrel, and pointed at Mr. Caval. He pulled the trigger, the gun and head jolting. The faint gunshot echoed. Mrs. Caval started banging her arms and legs, crying in desperation.

“Please! Oh God, please don’t let me die! Please! Please, please, please… my daughter! Oh please! She needs…” a bullet spiraled into her skull, through her brain, and out of her gaping mouth into the floor.

“You are a martyr in God’s work, ma’am,” the shooter replied monotone.

“Everyone is to stand up! If you can’t, you will be shot! Stand, ora, now! Now!”

Eventually, most of the audience did, looking around, hugging each other, crying for mercy. A few men stood their ground. Lily ran to her father.

“Everyone here is to repeat after me. God… I am American!”

A few mumbled the words.


Three times the charm, as the audience loudly proclaimed his statement.

“Catholics! Who are the Catholics? Everyone sit! Sit! Who are the Catholics?”

Lily remained standing with her father, but pulled on his shirt. “Please, sit, Daddy, please sit!” she begged under her sobbing tears. The man stood straight and firm.

Ten percent of the room remained standing.

“Good. Close your eyes, and plug your ears…”

The father did so, taking deep breaths.

Gasps. Screams. Gunshots.

Lily bent over to grasp her bleeding leg before a bullet pierced her right arm. She felt her father’s body collapse onto her. She screamed dryly.

A terrorist with a Galil kicked the father’s body over. He bent over low to the crying child. He shook his head as he clicked his mouth in sorrow.

“Poor, poor child!” he petted her hair and caressed her cheeks. “You will be redeemed.”

With that he opened her right eye filled with tears. He gently wiped her tears and hushed her. “Everything,” he placed the muzzle of his rifle to her face. “will be,” it leaned over her eye. She looked in and saw the bullet. “Alright.”

“Please,” she sobbed.

“Say hello to the Lord for me.”


"I don't have to ask," Rose said. "I know exactly what you want with me."

Her kidnappers ignored her words as they wheeled her outside towards the semi-truck and right into it.

"Ok! Go!"

Two guards jumped in and closed the door as the driver gunned the accelerator.

Ha, made you think Lily was the new cyborg huh? head bang
*Sees: *

Oh crap...

voodoo doll snipe 50 Lashes! :Henrietta:


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Re: Cyborg, Savant, Assassin?

Post by Whatface on Mon 1 Sep 2008 - 6:12

*clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap*

I actually enjoyed that!

Though Rose seems like she doesn't give a damn that she's just been kidnapped and that her parents are dead.


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Re: Cyborg, Savant, Assassin?

Post by Guest on Mon 1 Sep 2008 - 20:42

@Whatface wrote:*clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap*

I actually enjoyed that!

Though Rose seems like she doesn't give a damn that she's just been kidnapped and that her parents are dead.
When you read, accomplish, and write as much as she does, you might see it differently. She not only knew she was going to be kidnapped, she knew the flashbang grenades were coming. I think I'm going to add that she did close her eyes and plug her ears to help with the effects. She was also wheeled out after her parents were killed.
Rose believes that she is being held up for ransom. She's half-right:

Pricilla walked down the corridor with Jean. A nurse pushed a girl in a wheelchair towards them. She had a bandage covering what was left of her leg, and a patch over her eye. Pricilla’s eyes swelled with compassion.

The nurse wheeled the girl past and behind. Pricilla stopped walking and looked back. She looked at Jean gain distance ahead and briskly caught up.

“So, what happened to her?”

“She’s was in America when the Covenant Reformation Group kidnapped her and killed her parents.”

“What did they want with her?”

“You’re not going to believe it,” Jean replied.

A camera focused into view showing one of the kidnappers in his ski mask. He held an AK-74 up to the girl’s head. He petted her hair. “If you would like to see this wonderfully intelligent girl live, you better release George Douglas Wallez from prison!”

Rose was muffling loud “Mmm’s” through the cloth in her mouth.

The camera turned off. The men began chatting in Italian. He took her mouth covering off.

“I can understand everything you say you know,” the girl replied.

“Don’t get smart with us,” the shooter replied tipping the gun up to her skull.

“You do not want to do that.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Oh, no sir. You should simply be aware of my current condition. I have osteogenesis imperfecta Type III. Everyone has a protein called collagen that makes up about twenty-five percent of our body’s protein. It is connective tissue that also keeps the bones together. In most cases, Type I is where the collagen is defective, causing easy fractures of the bones. Type II is more severe and could cause early death,”

At that point, the gun was slowly pulled away from her head. “My body is a rare case because I am actually somewhat allergic to collagen and will resist it.”

“In English,” the man at the camera asked.

“Oh. My bones brake very easily.”

The men jolted back.

“I am fine. I am rather surprised that you were capable of heaving me away without any complications or severe interruptions.”

Rose heavily sighed. “I am feeling a bit faint. Do you mind if I could get some water? It might help revitalize my condition. If I tip over, my spinal accessory nerve can only…”

“Get her some water!” The terrorist ordered the cameraman.

“I also need to wake up some. A bit of chocolate cake would be congenial to satisfy my penchant need for energy.”

The cameraman took note and quickly walked out of the small white room.

“Oh, I could just fall over…” she said winking her eyes.

“WATER!” The man shouted.

The door busted open and the girl groggily looked up, her head drooping a bit. She took hold of the glass, the man shakily helping, and tipped the liquids into her dry throat. With an, ‘ah!’, she looked up at them better.

“All this excitement is tiresome to me.”

“A--a bed! How about a bed?”

“Yes, a bed…” she said. “A memory foam bed to help provide support for my spine.”

“We don‘t have one.”

“A memory foam mattress.”

“Sorry miss.”

“Too bad. I wake up with a horrendous back pain. I scream without ceasing. If I can stretch back, it feels better, but that threatens the coccyx, the sacrum, followed by…”

“What are you standing there for?” The leader shouted. “Go find a mattress to buy!”

The occurrences told her many things as she smiled in the back of her mind. One: her kidnappers were in an area where his shouting would not be audible or deceive his location.

Second, that she was underground.

Third that she was in the Roman catacombs, having heard the noises and the way the twists and turns worked, calculating her exact location and distance from where they flew in, even knowing the name of the private airport they used. The street or area she now resided was fuzzy, but she had a decent idea.

Fourth, they wanted to keep her alive.

Fifth, since they were after Wallez, they needed to contact many high-ranking authorities.

Sixth, that her kidnappers were stupid in treating her like a queen.

“You mean Rose Caval?”

Jean paused. “Yes.”

“How did the authorities find her?”

“Can we get anything?” The CIA agent replied.

“Nothing. The room is nearly soundproof.”

“Where are they?” the investigator put his head down on the desk as the group reviewed different sets of the tape. He paused and walked over to the high frequency station. “Alright. Get anything high-pitched.”

“The best we could find was the girl’s mumbling,” the agent replied his hands pressed hard against the headphones.

“Lemme hear.”

The head agent wrapped the headphones around his head and pushed the play button. His eyes widened.

“Get me a pen and paper! I know where she is!”

“Excuse me sir?”

The man pressed the intercom button for all to hear. The sounds of the room were focused on the girl’s muffled “hmms”.

“Morris Code?”


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Re: Cyborg, Savant, Assassin?

Post by Guest on Wed 28 Jan 2009 - 8:34

Wait, I never knew there's this place here....

...give me some time to read, then I'll review


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Re: Cyborg, Savant, Assassin?

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