Writing The Seven Year War

[Shinmaru]

Yay, another reply ^_^ This was definitely a pleasent surprise, heh.

[quote name='Arcadia][size=1']The story is awesome - I have no idea what's going at all, but I love it anyway. All the little hints and new perspectives you introduce only add to the feeling, and it definitely keeps up the interest.[/quote][/size]

I'm glad to see I'm doing that right lol. One of the things that makes this so difficult to write is revealing enough so that the reader wants to continue reading, but not so much that too much of the story is given away too early. Also, I'm trying to reveal things slowly so that later on, when all the shocks and surprises come, it doesn't all come out of left field; that wouldn't be too good lol.

[quote][size=1]I don't really haven't any complaints grammar-wise. I like the use of repitition (when it's used for the literary purpose, of course ^_~) and the as-a-matter-of-fact-ness that a lot of the sentences seem to have. Some of it is very [i]Catch-22[/i] to me, but it's also obvious that you've got your own thing going here and I can't wait to see where you're going to take it.[/size][/QUOTE]

Yes, good 'ol [i]Catch-22[/i] was definitely an influence on my little story (I was waiting for someone to point it out :p). However, I'm also glad that it doesn't seem as if I'm trying to emulate Joseph Heller's novel, because that's not really what I'm trying to do. I [i]do[/i] pay little homages to what inspires me, though, because I enjoy honoring the stories that turn on the lights in my head and get the gears moving...and, of course, you obviously noticed some of that, heh. And some of the central themes and such of my story are similar to those of [i]Catch-22[/i] because I pretty much hold the same stance on a lot of things that Heller did in his novel.

Again, though, this isn't [i]Catch-22[/i] nor is it meant to be - I've tried (and succeeded, hopefully) to place my own unique spin on things and, along the way, I pay tribute to some of the things that inspired me to write, which is the same thing I do in a lot of my stories (short stories and novels alike).

As for the matter-of-fact-ness of the sentences...well, I'm glad that doesn't seem to bother at least [i]one[/i] person lol. Descriptions of actions are my biggest weakness as a writer, I think. I'm more adept at story and character than description, though I do believe that I've made improvements to the way I describe things...trust me, I'm working as hard as possible to make certain that this doesn't get boring or anything, because that would suck :whoops:

[Mimmsicle]

[font=Verdana][color=darkred]You are [b]really[/b] advancing with this story, Shin. The latest chapter was [i]brilliantly[/i] laid out, both in content and execution.[/color][/font]

[font=Verdana][color=#8b0000]I will wait patiently to see where this all leads ^_^[/color][/font]

[Shinmaru]

After about a half hour of writing/typing, I finished Chapter Twelve, so now I can post Chapter Eleven (that sentence will make logical sense someday)! Hope you enjoy it.

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[b][u][center]Chapter Eleven: The Young Man from the Bakery[/b][/u][/center]

The bakery had burned down completely to the ground by the time the police had arrived.

The young man from the bakery sat in the back of the shop, twiddling his thumbs. Ever since the day Jacob had come into his life, and left just as quickly, the young man had been depressed. He truly wanted with all his heart to catch just one more glimpse of Jacob. He wasn?t sure if it was love, but he would not have been surprised to learn that it was so. He walked over to the door leading to the back room, opened it and stepped inside of the back room.

Inside, there were many machines. The machines were busy making all sorts of baked goods, though most of the machines were dedicated towards making doughnuts, as doughnuts were the most popular item in the bakery. One machine, in particular, caught the young man?s attention; there was a machine in the far corner, covered in cobwebs and dust, pumping and wheezing out doughnuts. This machine was in the last pathetic stages of its life. The young man would be sad to see it go, because this was the machine that made the doughnuts that he most often gave to customers.

There was a stack of black boxes next to the old machine. These boxes, too, were caked in dust and cobwebs; the young man always cleaned them thoroughly before giving them to a valued customer, however. The young man walked over to the stack of boxes, picked one up and began wiping it with a soft cloth. The cloth picked off all of the dust from the box and left it looking blacker than ever. The young man smiled to himself and strolled over to the old machine, where a dozen doughnuts were laying in wait. He scooped up the doughnuts and placed them in three neat rows of four inside of the box. He closed the lid softly and carried it out of the back room and placed it under the area where he worked.

The front door opened and the bells attached to the door sang a song of jingles and jangles. Two men stepped into the bakery, both dressed in white laboratory coats and slacks. The man of the left, who was named Gary, was tall, had short, closely cropped blonde hair and tiny spectacles that gave his face a humorous look. The one of the right, named Larry, was a bit shorter and had balding, brown hair. He also wore glasses, but his lenses were extremely large and gave his brown eyes the appearance of being much larger than they actually were. Gary and Larry walked steadfastly up to the front area.

?May I help you?? the young man asked. Larry paused and started to look around the bakery, while Gary placed his elbows upon the front area, just in front of the cash register.

?Well,? Gary said, his voice smooth as velvet. ?We would like a few doughnuts. You wouldn?t happen to have any, would you??

?As a matter of fact,? the young man said. ?I happen to have some fresh doughnuts right here.? The young man attempted, unsuccessfully, to hide his grin while he brought out the black box of doughnuts and set it upon the front desk. Gary picked up the box and raised it in front of his face. He rotated it around and seemed to be checking for something. ?Is there something wrong?? the young man asked, tilting his head slightly.

?I?m not really fond of the box color,? Gary said.

?I don?t like it, either,? Larry said.

?Would you mind getting us a different box?? Gary asked. ?I apologize if I?m inconveniencing you in any way.? The young man frowned.

?I guess I could give you a different box,? he lamented. He took the black box, placed it back under the shelf in the desk and trudged to the back room. Larry intensified his search around the bakery until the young man came from the back room with a pink box of doughnuts in his arms. After the young man came back into the room, Larry nonchalantly continued to peer about the room. The young man placed the box of doughnuts in front of Gary.

?Will that be all?? the young man asked.

?No,? Gary said. ?I think I?ll buy the black box with it, after all. I think a friend of mine might enjoy it.? The young man immediately brightened up.

?A wise choice, sir,? he said, grinning. ?That will be fifteen dollars for both boxes.? Gary reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, removing three $5 bills from it and handing them to the young man, who placed them into the cash register. The young man pressed a few buttons and the register closed with the clinking sound of money. He bent down, picked up the black box of doughnuts and placed it on top of the pink box. He slid them over to Gary, who picked them both up and started to walk to the door.

?Come on, Larry,? Gary said. ?Let?s head off now.?

?Okay,? Larry replied. He strode over to the door and opened it for Gary. Gary walked through the door and Larry followed him, closing the door behind him. The young man stood up, took out a feather duster and started to walk around the bakery, dusting each of the benches lined around the front room. A gleaming light caught the young man?s attention as he was cleaning the third bench. He looked up, a bit confused, and saw two bright, shining lights illuminating the inside of the bakery. After a few seconds, the lights turned onto their side and went away. The young man took a few seconds to regain control of his sight, which was lost temporarily due to the brightness of the lights, and when he looked up Gary and Larry were standing in front of him.

?Do you want your doughnut box back?? Gary asked, holding out the pink box of doughnuts, sans doughnuts, of course.

?What happened to the black box?? the young man asked.

?A friend of ours took it,? Larry said.

?Why?? the young man asked.

?I suppose he fancied the box,? Gary replied. ?He always was an oddball.?

?Did he eat the doughnuts?? the young man asked hopefully.

?I?m not sure,? Gary said.

?I don?t think he did,? Larry offered. ?He never did like doughnuts too much. I think he just wanted the box; he probably just threw the doughnuts in the garbage.?

?Or maybe he gave them to some homeless guys,? Gary said. ?Sometimes he feels a bit charitable, you know??

?Yeah,? Larry said. ?That?s true.? The young man again looked totally disappointed and lumbered his way back towards his desk and his cash register.

?Hold on for a moment,? Gary said. The young man turned around.

?What is it?? the young man asked.

?Would you mind talking with us for a few moments?? Larry asked.
?No, not really,? the young man sighed. In truth, he did not care for these two men in the least, but he was terribly bored, so he accepted their offer to talk. He walked over to the third bench, where Gary and Larry were already sitting, and sat down across from them.

?Okay, we?re just going to ask you a few questions,? Gary said. ?Is that okay with you??

?Sure,? the young man answered. He placed his hand on his chin and stared past Gary with a glazed look in his eyes.

?You?ve worked here for a while, right?? Larry asked.

?Yeah,? the young man answered. ?For about a year and a half now.?

?Do you think that you would be able to remember a particular customer who wanted any goods from your bakery?? Gary asked.

?I don?t know,? the young man replied. ?It depends on how recently they came here.?

?We?re looking for someone who came in here a few days ago,? Larry said. ?We believe that he works here.?

?Nobody but me works here,? the young man replied.

?Nobody?? Gary asked.

?The man who owns the place comes down once a month to get a look at the profits,? the young man said. ?But, other than that, I?m usually the only person here, besides the customers.?

?That?s funny,? Larry said, who actually did not think that this was funny in the least. He was perplexed as to how his information could be wrong. ?Are you sure that nobody else works here??

?I could show you the payroll, if you like,? the young man said.

?That won?t be necessary,? Gary said, frowning. ?So, perhaps this person may have been a customer, then??

?I don?t know,? the young man said. ?You still haven?t told me who you?re looking for. Plus, weren?t you just asking about a customer earlier before you asked if anyone was working with me??

?No,? Larry said.

?Okay,? the young man replied, very confused.

?The man in question is about your height,? Gary said. ?Short brown hair, brown eyes. He goes by the name of Jacob. Jacob S., if it comes to that.?

?I?m not sure whom you?re referring to,? the young man said, knowing exactly whom Gary was referring to.

?I think you know exactly whom we?re referring to,? Larry said, a vicious gleam in his eyes. ?Now, how about you tell us all about him??

?What if I don?t want to?? the young man asked.

?I think that it would be for your benefit to tell us all that you know,? Gary said. The young man sighed.

?He came in here a few days ago,? he started. ?He looked really tired and confused; I think that he may have been new to the city. He came into the bakery, attracted to the smells, I believe. He just wanted to sit down and take a whiff at the smells coming out of the back room. However, I shared a few doughnuts with him.?

?You WHAT?!? Larry shouted, horrified. The young man tilted his head.

?Yeah,? he said. ?Ordinary, run of the mill doughnuts.?

?Oh, thank goodness,? Gary said, wiping his forehand with his wrist. ?And what happened after that??

?He left,? the young man said.

?And that?s all?? Larry asked.

?Yeah,? the young man replied.

?Are you sure that you don?t know where he may have gone off to?? Gary asked.

?Yep,? the young man answered.

?What if we were to make it worth your while?? Larry asked.

?How would you be able to do that?? the young man asked. Gary reached into his lab coat and pulled out a small brown bag tied with a drawstring and placed it upon the table. The contents of the bag clinked together noisily.

?Thirty silver coins,? Gary said. ?All yours, if you tell us where Jacob is.? The young man eyed up the pouch nervously.

?I don?t think that I can do that,? the young man answered.

?Why not?? Larry asked. ?Everyone could use some money, couldn?t they??

?It?s nice money,? the young man agreed. ?But I can?t sell out Jacob.?

?Why not?? Gary asked.

?Because I love him,? the young man answered.

?Oh, for the love of God!? Larry yelled, swiping the bag off of the table. ?You?re telling me that you won?t take this money and sell out this guy because you LOVE him?!?

?Yes,? the young man answered simply.

?Jesus Christ!? Gary yelled. ?How unpatriotic is THAT?!? Gary went to the middle of the bakery, where the bag of coins had landed, and picked it up off of the floor, placing it into the pocket of the left side of his lab coat. Larry leaned in close to the young man and motioned for the young man to lean in close as well by waving his finger a bit.

?Are you sure that you won?t cooperate with us?? Larry whispered. ?This is very important, you know. You could be a hero if you do this.?

?I don?t want to be a hero,? the young man said. ?I can?t be a hero, anyway.?

?Why not?? Gary asked.

?That?s a secret, too,? the young man answered.

?We don?t need you to tell us that,? Larry said, disgusted. ?Let?s get out of here.? Larry got up from the bench and stormed over to the door. Gary turned on his heels and followed Larry over to the door. Larry opened the door and stepped outside, barely leaving the door open enough so that Gary could follow suit. The young man stared at the door for a few seconds before shrugging to himself and continuing with his work. He brought the feather duster back out and began to re-dust the benches. After a few minutes, the young man finished with his work and set the feather duster upon the front desk with the cash register.

The young man sat down and tried to reflect on what happened to him. However, before he could begin to reflect, several armed officers, with government insignias, rushed into the bakery. A few pointed weapons at the young man, while two others rushed him and beat him on the shoulders and in the ribs with their nightsticks. There was a loud snap and the young man felt a couple of his ribs break inside of his body. He let out a loud yelp, which was all his body could muster due to the pain.

Another couple of officers grabbed the young man forcefully and dragged him outside, throwing him upon the sidewalk. The rest of the officers kept their pistols trained upon his head, while the two left inside proceeded to take out matches, light them up and throw them around the bakery. The young man stared in horror as the flames spread quickly around the building. After a few seconds, the area was enveloped in a fiery orange blanket, flames ripping through the sky like bright red knives.

The young man heard a car approaching the group. The car, a bright red car, slammed its brakes and swung into a nearby fire hydrant, causing it to dislodge and send water gushing into the sky. A short, round man wearing a mustard yellow suit and a red tie ran over comically to the group of people hanging around the burning building. He was yelling harshly and waving his arms violently. The young man wasn?t really paying attention to him, however. A darkened figure had just sprinted past the gushing water on the other side of the street and now hurried into the shadows. The young man stared after him, romantic feelings stirring within him, yearning to chase after the mysterious figure. However, he was rudely interrupted by a shove from one of the officers.

?Just what the hell is going on?!? the round man yelled.

?Who are you?? one of the officers asked.

?I OWN this bakery!? the round man yelled. ?Why is it on fire?! And why do you have one of my workers in custody?!?

?This man works for you?? another one of the officers asked. ?He?s been charged with several counts of first-degree murder and arson.?

?Oh,? the owner of the bakery said. ?I have no idea whatsoever who that kid is.?

?I didn?t think so,? the officer replied, dragging the young man to his feet and shoving him into a car. Several other officers piled into their cars and they left the scene quickly. The owner of the bakery sighed and walked away from the scene. A few minutes later, a horde of police cars rampaged onto the scene, only to find that the bakery had burned down.

?Hey, what happened here?? one of the officers asked.

?I don?t know,? another officer replied. ?The whole place is burned to a crisp.?

?Looks like we got here too late,? the first officer said.

?Damn,? the other officer said. ?That?s a shame.? The officers piled back into their cars and drove away from the scene as the last remnants of the bakery fell unto itself in a pile of still smoldering ashes. A bit of wind passed through, picking up some ash and spreading it onto the street.

Still, nobody cared about this bakery, as it was rumored that whoever bought his or her baked goods from there would die. And that rumor would continue to carry on for years, as it was said that the young man?s ghost continued to haunt the bakery for the rest of eternity, though he would not start on this course of life until sixty years later, when he died in prison.

[Mimmsicle]

[font=Verdana][size=1][color=darkred]I know you're concentrating on writing short stories at the moment, so don't feel pressured to put anything up here just because I replied. Ok ? ~_^ Good.[/color][/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1][color=#8b0000]It's fascinating how you're describing a rather crude world and yet there is a sense of sweetness interwoven into the story. The young man at the bakery may not be the most innocent of people, but his "naivity" is really heartwarming ... in a slightly twisted way, hehe. I mean he's giving out those black boxes quite lovingly.

You really are moving forward with your writing, especially with description/action ^_^[/color][/size][/font]

[KarmaOfChaos]

[SIZE=1][color=deeppink]Well, there goes my favorite character. ;-;

Sorry I've taken so long to start reading this, I only discovered a couple days ago, and I haven't had a good chunk of free time to go through it all. But now that I have, I shall add myself to the list of your loyal followers and reviewers!

As Arcadia said, you have a unique matter-of-fact style that is different from a majority of books, and I enjoy reading it. The tints of humour (I loved the part where Dr. Milo pokes him with the stick and then declares him healthy.) are a very nice touch to the creepy, enigmatic feel of story. You do a good job with giving a character a particular 'trademark' quirk.

However, this leads me into a bit of constructive criticism. (Don't cringe.) If you develop the habit of simply identifying a character by one singular trait or quirk, you risk having a story full of 2-D characters that are very boring. I saw you making strides to correct that when you began to flesh out the boy from the bakery, turning him into a romantic psycho instead of just a psycho.

But then you killed him off. ;-; So much for progress.

My advice would be to give Jacob and Julia a bit more umph to their personality. While Jacob may have the obsession of validating his existence, I'm sure he has some other kind of traits that could work themselves into the story. The same applies for Julia. Their past consumes them, but they are still people.

I must say Shin, I like reading this story very much. I never was very good a coming up with twists in plots and holding things back so that the reader can find out later, and I admire your ability to do so. The style is very creative. I've never read Catch-22, but another book that this story reminded me of was 1984. But I'm hoping there will be a happier end then there was in 1984, because the ending in 1984 made me want to cry. >.>

Good luck with continuing this story, and rest assured I will be following it from here on in.

-Karma[/color][/SIZE]

[Shinmaru]

Heh, the infamous ending of [i]1984[/i]...don't know what I should say to that. Anything I say to affirm or deny any sort of sad ending would ruin the story, don't you think? :P

Anyway, I've had Chapter Twelve done for a long while now, but I haven't posted it yet for various reasons. However, I think I'm ready to get back into the swing of things with the story, so I've decided to put up Chapter Twelve :)

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[b][u][center]Chapter Twelve: The Dance[/b][/u][/center]

Jacob sat isolated at the front of the diner. He stared out the window at the people walking incoherently across the streets and at the cars whizzing past them, the drivers yelling in fits of rage as they realized they almost hit a person and would have had a large dock to their insurance had they gotten into an accident. Jacob sighed wistfully and rose to his feet, looking at the clock hanging on the wall on the other side of the room. It was six-thirty PM, about a half hour until the dance would be starting. Jacob went to the back room to inform the manager that he would be leaving.

Jacob opened the door and saw the manager scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. The manager looked up at Jacob and put his pen down on the desk, his arms covering the paper.

?Is there something I can do for you, Jacob?? the manager asked.

?I need to leave early tonight,? Jacob said. ?I have something that I need to take care of.?

?No problem,? the manager replied. ?I doubt that there is going to be much business tonight, anyway. Julia?s already left, so just put up the closed sign when you leave, okay??

?Okay,? Jacob nodded. He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Jacob walked all the way over to the subway station, paid for his ticket and got into the subway, sitting down near the door. The subway train lurched to a start, picked up momentum and made its way through the tight corridors at a steady pace. Jacob sat contentedly in his seat, arms folded in his lap. His face gave away no hint of how utterly nervous he was feeling at that very moment. His heart was pounding, his blood was racing and his palms were tingling with barely contained excitement.

After what seemed like an eternity, the subway car crept to a stop, jolting forward slightly. Jacob was thrown off-balance and almost fell out of his seat, but he managed to hang on and avoid falling to the floor. He got up, dusted off his clothes, which were not really dusty and exited the subway train.

The underground area leading out of the subway station was crowded and Jacob had a tough time working through the masses of people. He was crushed in between bodies that seemed to spring out of nowhere; his shoulders were scrunched, his hips were narrowed and his ribs threatened to collapse under the pressure. Jacob?s breathing slowed to the point where it seemed that he was exhaling more breath than he was taking in. Before Jacob imploded upon himself, however, he was squeezed out of the group of people and onto the sidewalk.

Jacob took several gasping breaths and the area immediately in front of him exploded into a dazzling display of red and black. He groped around along the ground, trying in vain to find something to help him get to his feet. Eventually, Jacob grabbed onto a handrail situated along the hall of stairs leading back down to the subway station. He took a moment to catch his breath and, when his vision cleared up, he raised himself onto his feet.

Jacob took a moment to survey the area. The land was now familiar to him, a stark contrast to when he first emerged into this strange land, wandering everywhere with no semblance of where he was. He looked at everything that was no familiar to him; the crumbling buildings, the faded walls and the run-down streets. Jacob walked over to a crosswalk and prepared to cross over to the other side. He took a couple of steps onto the street, then a group of police cars came barreling down the road, nearly running Jacob back onto the sidewalk.

The police cars twisted and turned comically before stopping in a frenetic horde in front of a large building. Jacob recognized this building as the bakery that he had stopped at in his first trek through the city. He swiftly crossed the street and, with his hand placed onto his forehead just above his eyes, he proceeded to scope out exactly what was going on. A gaggle of officers rushed out of the cars and burst into the bakery. After a few moments, they dragged out the young man from the bakery, kicking and squirming, and threw him onto the sidewalk. Soon after this had occurred, the bakery burst into flames.

Jacob found the whole instance to be quite bizarre. Before he could dwell on this, however, yet another car came barreling down the road. The car slammed into a fire hydrant that was situated mere feet from where Jacob was currently standing. When the car crashed into the hydrant, the hydrant was thrown forcefully from its stand and careened into a nearby wall. Water gushed from where the hydrant had previously been standing and spread everywhere in a cool mist. Jacob decided that he did not want to hang around here for much longer and began to run away. He stole a look at the young man from the bakery for a second or two, before he ran out of sight.

When Jacob was a considerable distance from the bakery, a thought suddenly entered his mind: He had no idea where the dance hall was. All Mr. Smith had told him was that it was on the other side of the town. Jacob thought that this piece of information was not really helpful in the least, given that Jacob was still not very familiar with the city, but he had no choice but to press onward and hope that he would run into the dance hall eventually. He trudged onwards, making sure to get a good look at each and every building in the area. Jacob was certain that the dance hall would be in one of the more affluent areas of the city, but considering all the strange occurrences that Jacob had bore witness to, it was not a far stretch of the imagination for Jacob to consider that the dance hall could conceivably be in one of the poorer areas of the city.

Jacob stole a quick look around the area in which he was walking. Several people were walking speedily along the sidewalk; most looked as if they were trying to evade the steely gazes of the others walking beside them. Bright lights shone against the blackened sky in a dazzling display of color. Different, and violent, shades of red, blue, green and purple twinkled incessantly and unfailingly. Jacob was sure that these lights had caused their fair share of epileptic fits over the years.

Off in the distance, Jacob saw several distinguished people emerging from a long stretch limousine. They seemed to be congregating around a large building that was shining brightest of all among the rest of the glistening structures. By the time Jacob had arrived at the building, the group of people had already made their way inside, save for one person. Jacob looked up at the large sign, which was covered in bright lights and hanging over the front door, that read ?The Opera?.

?The Opera?? Jacob asked himself. ?I thought this would be the dance hall??

?This [i]is[/i] the dance hall,? the person who had elected to stay behind replied.

?But why call it The Opera, then?? Jacob asked.

?Well,? the person said. ?The Opera wants to attract people of a certain?personage to come here. People of affluence are more likely to come to an opera rather than a dance hall, you see.?

?But why not just make it an opera?? Jacob asked. The person shrugged.

?I?m not sure about that,? the person replied. ?But we?re too set in our ways to change now.? With a slight bow of his head, the person walked inside of The Opera, leaving Jacob very confused.

?Well, I have the right place, at least,? Jacob reasoned to himself. ?Now, all I have to do is wait for Smith.? Without warning, an object landed on Jacob?s head. He twisted his head in surprise as his arms shot up to the top of his head to see what had landed upon it. His hands grasped the object in question; it was a top hat.

?Would you mind catching this for me, as well?? a voice yelled from above. Jacob looked skyward and saw Mr. Smith crouching on a ledge, near a stone gargoyle. Mr. Smith was dressed in a tuxedo, complete with long tails dangling betwixt his legs, shining black shoes and a small, black bowtie. The only oddity was that Mr. Smith still wore his beloved sunglasses, tilted slightly downwards upon the bridge of his nose. Mr. Smith brought out a long cane and tossed it down to Jacob, who caught it easily and admired the golden handle at the top of the cane. After that, Mr. Smith leapt down from the ledge and landed upon the sidewalk, bending his knees slightly to absorb the shock of his landing.

Jacob could not stop goggling at Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith took this opportunity to stroll smoothly up to Jacob and take back his top hat, placing it firmly upon his head.

?May I have my cane, as well?? Mr. Smith asked.

?Oh!? Jacob said. ?Oh, of course.? Jacob handed the cane to Mr. Smith, who swung it in a small circle before grasping the handle firmly and holding it upright. Jacob thought that Mr. Smith looked quite bizarre in his get-up but thought it much wiser not to mention this.

?Are we going to stay out here jabbering like two idiots all night or are we going inside?? Mr. Smith asked.

?Er,? Jacob said. ?Let?s go inside.?

?Good boy,? Mr. Smith replied, already opening the door. Jacob stepped forward and Mr. Smith held the door open for Jacob. After Jacob stepped inside, Mr. Smith followed him, letting the door close in front of a man and a woman who had wanted to come inside of The Opera. The inside of The Opera was emblazoned in a blinding display of gold. A golden chandelier hung precariously from the roof, fiery candles adorning it on all sides. Jacob had never seen such a spectacle in his life and stood in awe of the chandelier and its mighty presence. Mr. Smith raised his hand to Jacob?s ear and snapped his fingers several times. Jacob shook his head and emerged from his momentary stupor.

?I can assure you that you?ll see more glorious sights than?[i]that[/i],? Mr. Smith said, half-seriously, half-sneeringly. ?Just keep following me.? Mr. Smith turned toward the grand staircase that led them up to a massive gold-embossed door. Jacob and Mr. Smith walked up the deep red, velvet carpeting of the stairs, both keeping their hands on the smooth, golden handrail. Haughty couples floated snottily past Jacob and Mr. Smith as they made their way up the curvy, twisting stairway to the golden heaven. When they reached the top, Mr. Smith walked up to the large, glowing door and threw it open. He walked out onto a ledge and threw his right arm out, beckoning Jacob to look at the plethora of people out on the dance floor.

Jacob, however, was too busy staring wide-eyed at the acute embellishment of the main ballroom. Several of the chandeliers that he had just been hypnotized by were hanging from golden chains, which were attached to the roof of the room. The chandeliers were wobbling slightly, as if one mere touch would be enough to make one of them crash onto the ground. Jacob?s eyes were glazed over as he approached the ledge where Mr. Smith was standing. Mr. Smith stood off to the side and smirked at Jacob, apparently amused that he was so awestruck by the riches he bore witness to. He put his hand upon Jacob?s shoulder, though Jacob did not seem to notice. After a few seconds, Mr. Smith pulled Jacob roughly away from the ledge and glared at him. Though Jacob could not see that Mr. Smith was glaring at him, since Mr. Smith was still wearing his ever-present sunglasses, Jacob knew that the look he was currently receiving was not a pleasant one.

?I think that you?ve had enough exposure to the riches,? Mr. Smith snarled quietly. He gave himself a few seconds to compose himself and continued on. ?I think that now is the time that we talk.?

?Find me a seat,? Jacob said. ?And we?ll talk.? Mr. Smith laughed to himself.

?Growing more confident, are we?? Mr. Smith asked. ?Good, good, it will make this all the more enjoyable for me. Fine, I shall find you a seat, if that is what you wish.? Mr. Smith turned smoothly and advanced over to the stairs on the left side of the room. He ambled down the blue velvet stairs and Jacob toddled behind nervously. ?We?ll wait until everyone is done dancing, then we can find some seats. Right now, there is too much commotion.? Jacob nodded in agreement. He and Mr. Smith leaned against the wall, hands in their pockets, and waited for the imperious couples in the middle of the ballroom to cease their dancing.

Jacob took this opportunity to take in the ambience of the bottom floor. There was a white piano on the far side of the ballroom, with a young man who looked like he had come straight out of college playing it. The young man was tall and gawky, stringy-haired, greasy-skinned and pimply-faced. His long, spindly fingers, awkward in every other aspect of life, moved with angelic grace upon the keys of the piano. The smooth sounds of the piano filled Jacob?s heart and soul with happiness and he couldn?t help but notice that the couples that had seemed so supercilious before, now seemed entrancing and humble; they were not dancing, but merely floating around the ballroom.

After a few minutes, the young man stopped playing the piano. The overbearing couples continued their disdainful dancing while the young man took a few clumsy bows and exited quickly from the room. Mr. Smith tittered to himself and grinned over to Jacob.

?He?s good, isn?t he?? Mr. Smith asked.

?Yes, he is,? Jacob replied.

?He even had you loving those couples for a minute or two, didn?t he?? Mr. Smith asked. Jacob turned red and refused to look over at Mr. Smith. ?Oh, did I hit a sore spot? Don?t worry, stronger people than you have fallen prey to his music. That?s why he does what he does.?

?What about you?? Jacob asked.

?I see a couple of chairs on the other side of the room,? Mr. Smith pointed out, ignoring Jacob?s question. ?Nice and out of the way. You?re clothes are already drawing enough attention to us.? Jacob looked down, embarrassed. He had forgotten to dress formally. He was wearing a plain white shirt, beige slacks and black dress shoes. It was one of three different outfits that Jacob owned, besides the outfit he had taken from the room in the hospital room. He bought all of his clothes with the money he received from his job at the diner.

?I?m sorry,? Jacob said, now a bit fearful of Mr. Smith. ?I was in such a hurry, I forgot what I should wear??

?I?m not going to hurt you, if that?s what you?re worried about,? Mr. Smith said flatly. ?And I know that you don?t have any formal wear, anyway.?

?How did you know that?? Jacob asked.

?Because [i]I[/i] don?t have any formal wear,? Mr. Smith replied.

?But you?re wearing formal wear right now?? Jacob said, perplexed.

?I took this from someone,? Mr. Smith said, now a bit bored. ?He wasn?t going to have any use for it tonight, so he let me borrow it for the night.? Jacob shuddered. He could only imagine who would actually let Mr. Smith borrow something of theirs. Mr. Smith seemed to sense Jacob?s tension and allowed himself a tiny smirk. He led the way to the small group of chairs situated at the far side of the room. Nearest the group of chairs was a long table with a large white cloth draped on top of it; the table was covered from head to foot with an abundance of food. From time to time, people would pass buy, take some food, nibble on it slightly and walk away.

Jacob and Mr. Smith each took a seat in one of the red chairs. Mr. Smith leaned over, grabbed a piece of bread and offered it to Jacob. Jacob politely declined the offer of bread. Mr. Smith, who did not seem the least bit surprised or irritated, simply shrugged his shoulders and ate the bread himself. He took a moment wipe his mouth with a napkin and turned to Jacob.

?Now that we are done with all the pretense,? Mr. Smith started. ?I believe that we can get to talking.? Jacob nodded excitedly. This was the moment that he had been waiting for. ?I?m sure that there are many questions that you?ve been dying to ask me, so to speak.?

?Yes,? Jacob said.

?Fire away,? Mr. Smith said lightly.

?What do you want?? Jacob asked.

?What do I want?? Mr. Smith asked. ?I simply want what you want. I am?dissatisfied with the current state of the world and I am looking for change. That is all that I want.?

?No,? Jacob replied. ?That?s not all you want. I know it isn?t all you want.?

?For now,? Mr. Smith said. ?Change is all that I am satisfied with. Nothing more, nothing less.?

?Where do I figure into all of this?? Jacob asked.

?A simple question,? Mr. Smith said. ?With a highly complicated answer. I am afraid that I cannot supply you with the ends; I can only provide you with the means for you to find what you want. Or, rather, I can point you in the right direction of those means.?

?And where is the right direction?? Jacob asked. Mr. Smith paused to look around. Curiosity overtaking him, Jacob also took this time to look around. All Jacob saw were a few couples still dancing in the middle of the ballroom, while other couples had ceased their dancing to strike up conversations on all sides of the room, laughing gaily all the live long day.

?The right direction is all around you, Jacob,? Mr. Smith said. ?You just have to look in the right place, you see.?

?And where is the right place?? Jacob asked.

?I don?t know,? Mr. Smith replied. ?The right place is different for everyone. I have my own place and you have yours. You?ll have to find out what the right place is for yourself. I?m afraid I can?t help you much with that.?

?Well, thanks anyway,? Jacob muttered, standing up. Mr. Smith leapt up, clutched Jacob?s shoulder tightly and rammed him back into his seat.

?You fool!? Mr. Smith hissed. ?Haven?t you suspected a thing by now??

?What are you talking about?? Jacob asked incredulously.

?I guess your brains must have really been addled after all that time,? Mr. Smith said solemnly. ?You?re really clueless.?

?Clueless about [i]what[/i]?? Jacob demanded.

?Clueless about [i]them[/i],? Mr. Smith replied, his arm sweeping across the room. ?Don?t you see them? They?re everywhere.?

?I see a lot of people,? Jacob said. ?So what??

?They?re after you, don?t you know?? Mr. Smith said. ?They?re after me, too. I don?t think they realize who you are yet, but I?m sure that they know who I am. Look at their eyes; they keep looking back over here. Doesn?t that strike you as a bit suspicious?? Jacob peered closer at a few of the couples that were still dancing in the ballroom. Indeed, a few of their eyes kept swinging over in the direction of Jacob and Mr. Smith.

?How are we going to leave, then?? Jacob asked. ?And how did they find out we were here??

?Not all of them are idiots,? Mr. Smith said. ?Just the guys at top. They have some wily bastards working for them, but they?re only good at tracking people down. I?ve not been caught yet, have I??

?So, how do you propose we get out of here?? Jacob asked.

?Just follow my lead,? Mr. Smith said, standing off. He threw his top hat to the floor and let it roll under the food table. He walked to the middle of the room, and a couple of men approached him from the right and the left.

?Excuse me,? one of the men said. ?We?d like to talk to you. Can you spare a moment??

?I?m afraid that I can?t,? Mr. Smith replied. With whip-like speed, Mr. Smith swatted one of the men?s faces with the golden handle of his cane, thrust the handle into the gut of the other man and thrashed him in the face with a spin kick. Jacob, now enlightened as to how Mr. Smith wanted to leave the Opera, sprung out of his chair and attempted to flee the area. Another pair of guards spotted Jacob and attempted to apprehend him. Jacob, wide-eyed and in great fear, leapt over the food table and continued to run away. The pair of guards continued to give chase. Jacob spotted a few pears placed upon a silver platter, picked two of them up and threw them at the guards. They ducked the pears, so Jacob flung the silver platter at them. They evaded this, as well, but the momentary distraction gave Jacob enough time to begin running away again.

While Jacob was busy distracting the guards, his mind was busy preparing an escape route. He knew that the guards would be likely to be carrying guns, so escaping through the windows of the room was not the smartest of plans, as they could just pick him off from inside of the Opera. There was an emergency exit in the back of the Opera, but it was much too far away for Jacob to be able to successfully make it before the guards could plug him full of holes. Sighing resentfully, Jacob knew that he had to trust Mr. Smith?s plan and he would somehow have to stay alive until Mr. Smith righted things.

This was actually going rather well, as Mr. Smith had already knocked over half of the guards unconscious. He was busy dueling the last pair of guards on his side, while the other pair of guards were still busy trying to nab Jacob. One of the guards ran up to Jacob and attempted to fight him. Jacob gave in fully to his instincts and blocked all of the guard?s punches at rapid speed. He ducked, twisted and dodged all of the blows and found himself upon the floor after evading another of the guard?s painfully slow punches. Jacob bounded to his feet, sweeping the guard?s legs out from under him, and the guard was knocked unconscious, his head banging against the hard white marble floor of the Opera. Jacob looked up at the last guard, his pulse racing and his heart pounding. Jacob could feel the adrenaline flowing through his veins. However, this feeling was replaced very swiftly with brutal fear, as the final guard pulled a pistol out of his shirt pocket.

?You?re a good fighter when you?re cornered,? the guard sneered. ?But the game is up.? The guard shot at Jacob and, whether by luck or by fate, the bullet grazed Jacob?s cheek, causing no more damage than a slight burn. Jacob took this opportunity to leap up, grab the guard?s arm and twist the gun out of his hand. However, the guard?s other arm reached into his own pocket and pulled out a small knife. The guard put the knife up against Jacob?s throat and put pressure on it. Jacob let out a low, guttural moan.

?That?s right,? the guard said. ?You realize that you won?t be escaping this, don?t you??

?Drop the weapon,? a voice said. Mr. Smith was glaring at the guard and walking towards him and Jacob.

?Keep out of this,? the guard spat. ?I?ll slit the kid?s throat if you step any closer.?

?Kill him,? Mr. Smith said. ?And I?ll kill you.?

?You won?t be able to do it,? the guard said. ?You don?t even have a weapon!? In a flash, Mr. Smith pulled out a gun and shot the guard square in the middle of the forehead. The bullet sliced through the guard?s forehead and left a dime-sized hole. A slight stream of blood splattered onto the back wall and left a long red streak. The guard fell against the floor, dead before he even hit the ground. Blood flowed softly from the fatal wound. Jacob, who was now deathly white, looked up at Mr. Smith with his lowering jaw trembling and quivering with nervous twitches.

?It was either him or you,? Mr. Smith said. ?You didn?t want to die, right??

?Couldn?t you have spared him?? Jacob asked, somehow suppressing the urge to vomit across the marble floor.

?No,? Mr. Smith said. ?I?m afraid that would have been an impossibility.? Mr. Smith turned on his heel and began walking back to the front. ?Since you seem so?[i]averse[/i] to fighting, I suggest you find another way out of this place. The police force will almost certainly be gathered at the front. If you don?t fight, you won?t survive.?

?But where can I go?? Jacob asked. Mr. Smith replied by shooting at the window nearest Jacob. Jacob leapt aside slightly when the window pane shattered into a million pieces. Jacob scurried over to the window and looked outside. He was about three or so stories above the ground; he could barely make out all of the glass that had fallen outside. Jacob turned around to ask Mr. Smith another question, but he was gone. Jacob sighed to himself and surged onto the window ledge. He knew that the leap was far too high for him to survive without at least minor injury to himself, so he scouted the area for another way out. A few feet to his left, Jacob spotted a tree branch that looked just thick enough to support his weight for a few seconds.

Jacob hopped over to the branch and grasped it tightly with his hands. The branch dipped slightly and looked near ready to snap, but still managed to hold firmly. Jacob went hand-over-hand across the branch and gripped the trunk of the tree, sliding slowly down it. Jacob let himself drop a few feet onto the cold, wet grass. He immediately scanned the area to make certain that nobody was watching him and, when he was assured that nobody saw him, he ran from the Opera.

Jacob clung tightly to the brick walls of the houses and peered around corners, wary for anyone that might still be trying to capture him. Jacob had already been incredibly paranoid up to this point and Mr. Smith?s none-too-surprising revelation had not done much to alleviate any of those maniacal feelings. Jacob heard a siren off in the distance, bolted straight for an alley and leapt into a large dumpster, sitting scrunched up in a tight ball, arms wrapped around his legs. The sirens faded slowly into the background and Jacob peeped slowly out of the dumpster. After wiping a stray banana peel off of the top of his head, Jacob climbed out of the dumpster and went back onto the sidewalk.

It was now close to midnight and the night grew extremely chilly. Jacob was breathing heavily and his breath streamed out in thick puffs of gray carbon dioxide. His eyes were darting to and fro, from side to side, never stopping for even one mere moment, for fear that if he stopped, someone would catch up to him and that would be the end of his life. All of a sudden, for no reason at all, Jacob broke into a speedy run. He ran past the bakery, which had by now burned down completely into the ground, all the way to the entrance of the subway station. He ran for five minutes straight. His mouth was thick with the taste of blood and he had the overwhelming need to spit on the ground. He ignored this, though, and walked down the entrance corridor into the subway station.

There were only a few people waiting for the subway train in the station. The few people that were there had chosen to mass at the very front of the station, near where the train would stop when it arrived at the station. Jacob decided that he did not want to get involved with these people and elected to stay at the very back at the station. After about ten minutes or so of waiting, the subway pulled into the station, sparks flying out onto the tracks, and the doors opened for the people to shuffle inside. Jacob walked swiftly up to the doors and entered them just as they were closing. The group of people that had assembled near the train stuck together and sat in a group on the left side of the train. Jacob went over to the right side of the car, where he would be all alone, sat down, closed his eyes and leaned back against his seat. A few of the people from the group on the left side of the train pointed their fingers at Jacob, whispering a bit and snickering to themselves, but Jacob paid no heed to this. He was too busy thinking of other things.

Jacob was busy thinking about what Mr. Smith had told him. In the back of his mind, Jacob had always figured that the government would ultimately be the source of his troubles, but he had not realized the extent of which everything had gone. Was he really that dense? Mr. Smith had acted as if everything that was going on should have been extremely obvious, but Jacob still had no clue as to what was happening. However, he knew what he would have to do and he did not like it one bit. Mr. Smith had suggested that Jacob go straight to the source to find out what was really going on?but that meant going straight into the actual government headquarters itself. Mr. Smith did not seem to hold the government in any sort of esteem, and Jacob himself did not really think that they were the brightest institution in the world, but going into their actual headquarters would still prove to be risky business.

And why couldn?t Mr. Smith shed any light on what was going on? Furthermore, how much could Jacob actually trust him, if at all? It was clear to Jacob that Mr. Smith was a highly dangerous person. Yet, Mr. Smith did not try to kill Jacob and, in fact, had protected him. Mr. Smith had some sort of interest in Jacob, though Jacob was still not convinced that this interest was altogether good. The dreams of the shadowy figure were still fresh in Jacob?s mind and he knew in the very deepest reaches of his heart that Mr. Smith was the darkened figure from those dreams. He had caused Jacob extreme pain and anguish, so Jacob had no choice but to be as wary as possible when it came to dealings with Mr. Smith.

Jacob wanted to think more, but he was extremely tired and worn out from his jaunt in the Opera. He sat back in his chair in an attempt to get comfortable and fell asleep. Almost as quickly as he drifted off into sleep, however, Jacob was rudely awakened by the engineer of the subway train.

?We?re at the end of the line,? the engineer said. ?Time for you to leave.? Jacob nodded groggily and stood to his feet, wobbling slightly. Jacob walked out of the subway train, his eyes bleary and his steps unsure. Jacob walked out of the subway station covering his eyes because he had expected it to be daytime. He was surprised to find that it was still nighttime. Jacob continued walking, glad to see that the end of the line was his usual neighborhood. Jacob passed by the diner and stole a look inside, hoping to see the manager, but it appeared as if the manager had closed up shop and left for the night.

Jacob walked further, now just wanting to get home and have a good night?s rest. He made it to the apartment building, fumbled a bit with the doorknob and stepped inside. He closed the door, turned around and was greeted by a familiar voice.

?It?s pretty late,? the old manager said. ?You should?ve been home a while ago.?

?I know,? Jacob said. ?But I had things to do earlier.?

?I understand,? the old manager replied. ?Just get yourself some sleep. You look terrible.?

?Yeah,? Jacob said. ?Yeah, I?ll go get some sleep.? Jacob trudged up the stairs, his mind a cacophony of voices, mutterings and dull, painful thoughts. A myriad of people cried out all at once and Jacob felt the sudden and urgent need to cry out in pain. He made it to the top of the stairs and was greeted at once by the third old man.

?Hello, Jacob,? the old man said.

?Hello,? Jacob replied, rubbing his temple gingerly.

?Have you heard the news yet?? the old man asked.

?I?ve heard some news,? Jacob said. ?But you?re probably talking about something else.?

?Come into my room,? the old man said, motioning to his room. Jacob followed him inside and sat down upon the old man?s bed. His television was on and a news anchor was talking. ?Listen to the news.?

Jacob listened. The anchor was currently talking about the bakery which had burned down earlier in the night.

??and the employee of the bakery has been charged with arson, assault and first-degree murder,? the anchorman said. ?His trial is expected to begin tomorrow morning. In other news, two unknown men were apprehended and killed earlier this evening.? Jacob gasped lightly as the pictures of the manager and the publisher appeared on the television.

?It gets worse,? the old man said.

?The two unknown men were believed to have been conspiring to overthrow the government, which is a capital offense and punishable by death upon sight. Government agents tracked the two men to a building in the slum area of town and killed them both. Had they been taken in alive, the government would also have charged them with arson, since the building that they met in burned down.? The old man turned off the television in disgust. Jacob was now paler than ever and could not say a word.

?He was a great man,? the old man said. ?He was just trying to make a difference and they killed him. It?s a damn shame.? Jacob stood awkwardly to his feet. A solitary tear was trickling down his left cheek as he walked slowly out of the room. The old man peered at Jacob quizzically as Jacob went back to his room. Jacob entered his own room and closed his door lightly. He went over to his bed, fell onto it and went to sleep. He died over and over again in his dreams.

[KarmaOfChaos]

[color=deeppink]God that was depressing. I really like how you overlap stories so something happens, but then you have to backtrack to get all the characters up to speed. It makes the story so much more interesting.

Only two minor complaints: Once, you used the word inside twice right next to each other (it was in the beginning of the chapter, I think) and it read awkwardly. The other is that when Jacob is in the crowd of people, there are two sentences that seem to conflict about where he's going and they're both worded strangely, so it's hard to make sense of.

Neither of these things really impeded me, and both things you can fix pretty quick. I'd still like to know more about your characters...you're keeping us in the dark. ;-;

-Karma[/color]

[Arcadia]

[quote name='KarmaOfChaos][color=deeppink'] I'd still like to know more about your characters...you're keeping us in the dark. ;-;[/color][/quote]
[size=1]That's what I'm saying.

Another good chapter, old boy. Spot on. There were a few parts that made me laugh and I don't know that they were actually supposed to. Twas this,

[i]Jacob was sure that these lights had caused their fair share of epileptic fits over the years.[/i]

... and this,

[i]After wiping a stray banana peel off of the top of his head...[/i]

Epileptic is such a cool word.

Right, back to the story. This chapter was actually a little slower for me than some of the others, possibly because I (as the reader) already know what Jacob is just finding out - that the government is up to some fishy business. I do really like the introduction of the piano man, though, and his strange ability to entrance people with his music. That's cool.

Mr. Smith is creepy, though.[/size]

[Shinmaru]

Ah, it's been a while, hasn't it? The writing bug has been extremely fickle as of late, and due to the way I had originally set up the story, I wasn't really sure how to approach this chapter. However, a few TV shows, books and a thinking session later, I now think I have this story figured out, so hopefully there won't be any more big gaps between chapters. But I won't make a 100% promise on that, heh.

---

[b][u][center]Chapter Thirteen: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington[/b][/u][/center]

The rain woke Jacob up. The droplets of water pattered against the thin panes of glass shielding Jacob?s room from the outside forces of Mother Nature. Jacob looked outside, saw the assemblage of gray clouds marring the sky, and figured that it was still painfully early in the morning. With a dull ache in his head, Jacob looked over at the clock on the far wall with his puffy, stinging eyes. It was 8:30 AM and Jacob was over two hours late for work. Jacob rolled over on his side, his head sinking deeper into his pillow, and he tried to fall back asleep, without success.

Jacob decided to go to the diner. He got up, changed into his work clothes and a sweater to protect himself against the rain. Jacob took a moment to look at himself in the mirror before he headed out of his room. Light stubble had grown on Jacob?s face during the night and his eyes were streaked with red. He could scarcely keep his eyes open long enough to notice that particular detail, and his stomach was growling fiercely reminding him of his own malnourishment. Jacob had declined to eat the night before and was now beginning to regret it.

Jacob?s hand floated towards his doorknob and he grasped it tightly, much tighter than he had first intended. He tried to force himself to turn the knob and pull open the door but could not bring himself to perform this banal task. Jacob realized suddenly that his hand was shaking uncontrollably, still clutching the doorknob tightly. Jacob blinked and felt the sting of salty tears cutting against his eyes and inflamed skin; he had been crying without realizing it.

Jacob walked over to his bathroom and turned on the water in the sink. He cupped his hands under the faucet, gathered some water and splashed it against his face. The water refreshed Jacob slightly and he took a towel to his face and rubbed some of the dripping water away. His eyes were still stinging, but far less now, and he was no longer crying. He threw the towel onto the floor and left the bathroom, forgetting to close the door and leaving it hanging open.

Jacob walked out of his room and closed the door softly behind him. He looked over at the third old man?s room, but there was no stirring from within his room. Jacob went slowly downstairs and was just about out of energy by the time that he reached the bottom. Jacob?s walk to the front door was akin to the devolution of man; with each step that he took, Jacob slumped closer and closer to the floor. After a few steps, his feet were now merely sliding across the floor and his knuckles were dragging. With only one step left to go, Jacob hit the floor and fell unconscious.

When he woke up, Jacob was on the couch with a wet rag on his head. Jacob reached up to his forehead to remove the dampened rag, but a hand grabbed his wrist and gently moved Jacob?s hand away from his forehead. Jacob looked up and saw the old manager smiling down morosely at him.

?I thought I told you to get some sleep last night?? the old manager asked gently.

?I did,? Jacob replied. ?I got plenty of sleep last night.?

?Then why do you look so fucking terrible?? the old manager asked.

?I got plenty of sleep,? Jacob said. ?But none of it was good sleep.? The old manager nodded soberly.

?I see,? he said. ?Well, I think we should keep you in today.?

?No,? Jacob said. ?That won?t be necessary.?

?Why not?? the old manager asked with a hint of amusement.

?I might not look it,? Jacob said. ?But I?m feeling better. I need to get down to the diner right away?I think there might be something waiting for me out there.?

?It?s your life,? the old manager said with a slight shrug. ?I can?t tell you how to live it, I guess.? The old manager took the moist rag off of Jacob?s head and helped Jacob get up off of the couch. Jacob limped over to the front door and placed his hand upon the doorknob. He opened the door. It was still raining hard outside.

?Do you want an umbrella?? the old manager asked.

?No thanks,? Jacob said. ?I like the rain.?

?Your call,? the old manager said, turning his back to Jacob and walking into the kitchen. Jacob went outside and closed the door softly. The rain doused every inch of Jacob almost immediately. Dewy droplets of water formed in every crevice of his wool sweater and there were dark, wet patches of brown all over his beige pants. Jacob?s hands were cold and numb, so he thrusted them into his pockets, desperate for some warmth. His pockets provided temporal warmth, which was enough for Jacob. By the time he reached the diner, his hair was wet and stringy, matted harshly against his head. Clumps of his hair stuck out in odd directions, which were constantly changed by the combination of the force of the rain and the fresh wind which was blowing around.

Jacob halted in front of the door of the diner. Standing across from him was Julia. Like Jacob, she looked as if she had experienced a rough night; her eyes were bloodshot, she was slumped forward slightly and she had a tired look about her face. Julia was carrying an umbrella, but as soon as she spotted Jacob, she closed it and tossed it to the floor, not once averting her steady gaze at Jacob. Fresh rain poured onto her head, sending loose strands of hair onto her face. She walked slowly up to Jacob, still gazing directly at him. After a few seconds, she stood right in front of him.

?You heard the news, too?? Jacob asked.

?Yes,? Julia said. ?It was terrible. I couldn?t sleep after hearing it.?

?Neither could I,? Jacob said. Julia sighed heavily. She looked as if she were trying desperately to cry, but could not muster up the strength to do so. Instead, Jacob embraced her, and she did not make any attempt at all to resist this. Julia buried her head against Jacob?s chest and shuddered slightly.

?Do you think that we?re safe, Jacob?? Julia asked.

?I don?t know,? Jacob admitted. ?There are a lot of things that I?m not sure about right now.? Julia hugged Jacob closer in response and the rain continued to pour around them. A black car drove on the road beside them, and a cigarette flew out one of the car?s open windows and landed near Jacob?s feet. Mr. Smith laughed from inside of the car and continued to drive.

?Very touching,? Mr. Smith said to himself. ?Very touching, indeed. Maybe there?s hope for him after all.? The car weaved in and out of traffic, skillfully moving around the street without even coming close to hitting another of the cars traveling alongside it. After a few minutes, Mr. Smith reached his destination: The Conspiración Imperialista Building, the tallest building in the city. He took the opportunity to park right in front of the building, in one of the tow-away zones. Another car would be fairly easy to come by. Mr. Smith thrust his umbrella out of the car door and opened it, shielding himself from the rain. He then climbed out of the car, closing the door behind him. He ambled through the rain, stepping over a slightly flooded storm drain and walked through the front door of the building and into the main hall.

There was a desk at the end of the long hall. Bright white lights were arranged in tight rows on the roof. Mr. Smith closed his umbrella, wrapped it shut and shook the loose water off of it. He then took this opportunity to make sure that his appearance was just right. His pants were slightly wet due to the rain, but still appeared neatly pressed and were the same light brown color they were when he bought them. His suit coat managed to make it through the rain without getting wet and likewise was the same light brown color it had been when he bought it. Mr. Smith?s white dress shirt and red tie were nice and presentable and his black dress shoes, though slightly damp, remained nice and shiny. Mr. Smith felt his hair ? it was slicked back and still in place, just like he had wanted it to be. Mr. Smith adjusted his sunglasses and decided that everything was as good as it would be likely to get.

After everything checked out, Mr. Smith walked up to the front desk and waited politely until the clerk gave him his attention.

?Can I help you?? the desk clerk asked.

?Yes,? Mr. Smith said, running through the information he had gotten from a contact one more time. ?I?m the new Assistant Manager of the South Wing. I was asked to come down today to meet with my new superiors.?

?I see,? the desk clerk said. ?Well, just give me some identification, I?ll run it through the machines and then I can give you clearance to the back room.?

?Fine,? Mr. Smith said, rummaging through his coat pocket. He pulled out a small identification card and handed it to the desk clerk.

?Thank you very much,? the desk clerk said. ?You may take a seat on the bench over there, if you please. I?ll let you know when I am finished.? Mr. Smith nodded and walked towards the bench. He sat down on it, placing his right leg upon his left knee and leaning back slightly. He sighed contentedly. Everything was going according to plan. Mr. Smith closed his eyes and ran back through his meeting with his contact.

The meeting had taken place in a small downtown restaurant. The place had been dark, for the most part, with only a few lamps scattered around the room. The lamps were enclosed in shades made of red-tinted glass, giving the light shining through a dark red color. Mr. Smith leaned back against the cushioned bench, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table, his head turned disinterestedly away from the person he was meeting with. The person across from him, whose face was covered in darkness, gave a slight cough, and then folded their hands upon the table. Mr. Smith gave a short chuckle and turned his attention to the person sitting across from him.

?You do know what you are getting into, do you not?? Mr. Smith asked.

?Y-yes,? the person said, stammering slightly. ?Yes, I do.?

?And you understand,? Mr. Smith continued. ?That if caught, I will do absolutely nothing at all to help you out of any delicate situations??

?Yes,? the person said. ?I understand completely.?

?Good,? Mr. Smith smiled. ?The potential benefits outweigh the risks, eh?? The person nodded. ?I thought so. They always do.? The person picked a bag up off of the floor and set it upon the table. Mr. Smith eyed it lazily as the person slid it across the table to him. Mr. Smith opened the bag and took a look inside.

?The Assistant Manger of the South Wing resigned recently,? the informant said. ?And they?ve already hired a replacement.?

?Yes, yes,? Mr. Smith said. ?I?ve already taken care of [i]that[/i] little detail.? The person sitting across from him smiled weakly and continued on.

?These are the items that I was able to recover,? the informant said. ?Mostly unimportant and trivial things, with the exception of his I.D. Card and his resume. We should be able to alter both of these items with relative ease so as to make them into [i]your[/i] identification and [i]your[/i] resume.?

?Excellent,? Mr. Smith said. ?And you?re quite certain that he has a meeting the day I plan to go in??

?Yes,? the informant said. ?I?ve checked it myself, down the minute and second that he?s expected to be there. Or, rather, that [i]you?re[/i] expected to be there.?

?Indeed,? Mr. Smith said, a grin lighting up his face. ?I thank you for your cooperation, and you can expect to be?compensated as soon as possible.? Mr. Smith reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. ?Do you smoke??

?Yes, sir,? the informant said, taking a cigarette from Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith then took out a lighter and lit up the informant?s cigarette. He then placed the pack of cigarettes down on the table and started to leave. ?Don?t you smoke?? the informant asked.

?No,? Mr. Smith said. ?It?s bad for your health.? The informant stopped smoking for a bit and looked down at the pack of cigarettes with wide, frightened eyes. ?Not to worry,? Mr. Smith said, tittering. ?I?m speaking in general terms.? Mr. Smith left the restaurant. The informant took the cigarette out of their mouth and ground it into the ashtray.

?I know that it?s all worth it,? the informant said, to nobody in particular. ?But he?s a really creepy guy.?

?Mr. Randall!? a voice said. Mr. Smith snapped out of his pseudo-trance and walked over to the front desk. The desk clerk handed him his I.D. Card and pressed a button, opening the way to the rest of the building. ?Your identification checks out Mr. Randall. I hope the wait wasn?t too long.?

?The wait wasn?t bad at all,? Mr. Smith said. ?I hardly noticed it.? Mr. Smith walked to the back area, the heels of his dress shoes clicking softly on the floor. As soon as Mr. Smith walked through the door, the desk clerk pushed a button and the door closed. Mr. Smith emerged on the other side. His eyes swept the room he was in. There were several halls in this area, with many doors lining the walls along the halls. He knew where he would eventually have to be, but Mr. Smith decided to take this opportunity to take a little stroll around the building. He looked down at his watch to see what time it was; it would be about an hour or so before he would have to be at the meeting.

?This is bringing back some nice memories,? Mr. Smith said to himself. ?I think that I can afford a nice trip down Memory Lane.? He strode forward and turned left at the first hallway. Each of the doors in the hallways had special locks on them which required a swipe of the identification card to open. Mr. Smith swiped his I.D. Card through a lock on a door and peered inside. There was nobody in the room. It was a small laboratory with an abandoned experiment in the middle of the room. Near the back of the room was a large glass tube, half filled with a blue liquid. Mr. Smith brought his head back outside and closed the door. ?That definitely brings back some memories.?

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was in one of those glass tubes, only this tube was filled to the brim with blue liquid. When Mr. Smith opened his eyes, the liquid stung them agonizingly, pressing him to force his eyes shut once more. When he opened them again, he was laying upon an operating table, while several doctors were conversing around him. His chest moved up and down slowly, his lungs gaining strength with each passing second. One of the doctors took a glance over at Mr. Smith?s naked body and noticed him breathing.

?Look, everyone!? the doctor said. ?He?s awakened!? The doctors immediately halted their conversation and focused all of their attention on Mr. Smith, who did not seem to notice any of them at all. In a few moments, Mr. Smith was propped up on a chair, wrapped in a towel and drinking a warm drink. He had flat, plastic sensors attached all over his body, each connected to a machine near the back of the room, which was taking readings from Mr. Smith?s body.

?How are you feeling?? one of the doctors asked Mr. Smith. He did not answer back, and continued to simply drink his drink. ?What are the readings thus far?? the doctor asked.

?His mental reading is at 100%,? one of the assistants said. ?He seems to be feeling no mental duress at the moment. And his physical reading is at 80%!?

?Remarkable,? one of the doctors breathed. ?His recovery capabilities are exceptional!?

?Yes,? another doctor said, smiling proudly. ?We?re far evolved from the failures of the past.?

?This is a great day for our field, Dr. Milo,? one of the assistants said.

?Indeed it is,? Dr. Milo replied. ?Today begins the reformative years, where we cast away our previous work and move forward to our brighter tomorrow. These will be the years where we cast our names in stone.? The doctors let out a solid group cheer, as Mr. Smith continued to stare blankly ahead, still sipping his cup of warm water. Mr. Smith closed his eyes as he sipped the last of his drink. When he opened them again, he was back in the lighted hallway, fully clothed in present times.

Mr. Smith looked down at his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. He decided to start on the path towards the meeting and maybe stop in a room somewhere near where he had to be. He continued walking down the hall, meeting many forks in the long white road and taking a myriad of seemingly arbitrary turns down these forks, even though he knew that he was going in the exact right direction. Mr. Smith passed by many doors, but there was one that caught his attention. One that he thought he recognized. He took a look at his watch ? there was about a half hour until he needed to be in the meeting place. He decided to take a slight risk so that his curiosity would be at least slightly quelled.

Mr. Smith again took out his I.D. Card and swiped it through the lock. The door opened and Mr. Smith went inside the room. The door closed behind him and the room was plunged into total darkness. Mr. Smith?s arm groped the wall near the door for a few seconds before his hand found the light switch. He flipped the switch up, spreading a dim light throughout the room. Flanking the sides of the room were several shelves lined with video tapes. In the back of the room was a small television set with a built in VCR. All of the video tapes were labeled with code names. There was one tape, however, that caught Mr. Smith?s attention. It was labeled ?The Seven Year Project?.

?Hello, what have we here?? Mr. Smith said to himself. ?This might provide some entertainment. I think I?ll see what they?ve cooked up on here.? Mr. Smith grabbed the tape and took it out from its box. He handled it carefully and put it gently into the VCR. The television turned on and the tape started up. After a few seconds of static, Mr. Smith?s image appeared on the screen. A narrator then began to speak.

?Twenty-three years after the Seven Year War, and the subsequent failure of Project Titan, a second project was begun. The specifications for this experiment were much the same as the earlier experiment, except that this new project included a few new tweaks. For two years, our top scientists experimented on several volunteers, finally coming across one that fit the needs of the project. Twenty-five years after the end of the Seven Year War, the experiments that had failed years before had now been declared a rousing success.

However, the fruits of the labor used on the project could not be used immediately. Several years of training and more experimentation were needed before the subject, dubbed Smith, would be of any real use for the government. These years, along with the earlier years of experimentation, were labeled the Seven Year Project.

Unfortunately, this project also turned out to be a failure. The test subject?s psyche eventually deteriorated as much as, if not more, than his predecessor, and this project was also deemed a failure. The test subject was killed and his body saved for further examination, in the hopes that the government would be able to find a way to achieve the true results that they were looking for.?

There was a bit more on the tape, but Mr. Smith pressed the stop button. He ejected the tape, placed it back into its box and onto the shelf, chuckling to himself all the while.

?What a piece of rubbish,? Mr. Smith said. ?Nothing but a low-level tape.? Mr. Smith then turned his head around and looked over at the door. He had heard sounds coming from outside. Two men were walking towards the door. One of the men took out his keycard, swiped it through the lock and opened the door. The room was pitch black. The man stepped into the room and looked around for a few seconds. Nothing was out of place or out of the ordinary in the room. He shrugged his shoulders and left the room.

?There?s nobody in there,? the man said. ?I guess they were just hearing things.? The two men left after a few seconds. Mr. Smith emerged from a darkened corner near the shelves and stepped out of the room. He again checked his watch. There was ten minutes left until the meeting started, just enough time for him to make it. He walked through the halls and snaked around corners until he made it to the office. He knocked lightly on the door and a light female voice asked him to enter. A buzzer sounded, the door opened and Mr. Smith walked inside of the room.

?Mr. Stevens will be with you shortly,? the secretary said. ?Please have a seat.?

?I will, thank you,? Mr. Smith said, obligingly sitting down on the sofa on the other side of the room. After a few moments the door in back of the secretary opened and Mr. Stevens beckoned Mr. Smith towards his office. He stepped inside and Mr. Stevens motioned towards a familiar figure already sitting in a chair in front of Mr. Stevens? desk.

?Hello, Randall,? Mr. Stevens said. ?Have you met Dr. Milo?? Mr. Smith smiled down at him.

?No, we haven?t met,? Mr. Smith said. ?But I?ve heard many great things about him.?

?Are you sure we haven?t met?? Dr. Milo asked. ?You look very familiar.?

?I get that a lot,? Mr. Smith said flatly, shaking Dr. Milo?s hand. Mr. Smith sat down in the other chair in front of Mr. Stevens desk.

?How have you enjoyed your time here, so far, Randall?? Mr. Stevens asked.

?It?s been an enlightening experience,? Mr. Smith replied.

?I?m sure that you?ve heard quite a bit about the?ah?delicate situation right now?? Mr. Stevens asked.

?I?ve heard a bit,? Mr. Smith said.

?A bit is all you need to know,? Dr. Milo said. ?Even if you know only a bit, you still know more than most people do.?

?All you need to know is that we?re hunting some very dangerous men right now,? Mr. Stevens said. ?If both go very long without being captured, it will be very bad for us.?

?Understood,? Mr. Smith said, suppressing the urge to laugh.

?Your post is very integral to us, Randall,? Mr. Stevens said. ?We need all four wings to work as a cohesive unit to ensure that everything around here flows smoothly.?

?Even though it doesn?t,? Dr. Milo said bluntly. Mr. Stevens glared at him, before looking up at the clock above the door of his office.

?I?m sorry, I have to cut this meeting a bit short,? Mr. Stevens said. ?I have a meeting that I need to attend right now.? Mr. Stevens shook both Mr. Smith and Dr. Milo?s hands, then he left the room. There was an awkward silence between Mr. Smith and Dr. Milo for a few moments. Dr. Milo then chose to break the silence.

?Don?t think I don?t know who you are, Smith,? Dr. Milo said. ?You?re a real arrogant guy, strolling in here like this. What makes you think that I won?t get you right here and right now??

?Because you value your own skin,? Mr. Smith replied, bored. ?That?s why. If you call for security, I?ll kill you. It?s that simple. Your boys might end up capturing me, but you?ll be dead. I don?t think that?s a fair trade-off, do you?? Dr. Milo stayed silent for a few seconds, then spoke up.

?Get out of here,? Dr. Milo said. ?I?ll give you a head start, but you had better believe me when I say that I?ll have more people on your ass than you can count.?

?I believe you,? Mr. Smith said. ?It?s been like that for, what, seven, eight years now? I?m used to it.? Mr. Smith then left the room, leaving a frustrated Dr. Milo in his wake. That did not excuse Mr. Smith from also being frustrated, as he had not expected Dr. Milo to be there, at all. Dr. Milo?s appearance threw a major kink into Mr. Smith?s plans, and his informant was going to hear about it. Personally.

[KarmaOfChaos]

[COLOR=deeppink][SIZE=1]Ooh, intrigue, lots and lots of intrigue. A little bit of romance too! Thus, Shinmaru wraps his fingers a little tighter around the audience's attention. Who exactly is Mr. Smith? What do all these experiments have to do with Jacob? And damnit all, will Jacob and Julia ever get down and dirty?!

Lol, j/k. The way it looks now, Jacob and Smith are weapons of some sort, Smith being the prototype, of course. But much of it still remains a mystery. ;-;

We all eagerly a n t i c i p a t e your next chapter, Shin.

-Karma[/SIZE][/COLOR]