I am back...kind of...(and a gift)

I know that it has been a while since I have graced the pages of my blog and for that I am sorry. But reality has been keeping me away from this place but now I am back and there have been a lot goings on and in the next few entries, I will share those experiences with one and all. But for now, I will just get this apology out of the way and share a few nuggets now.
I do hope that everyone is having a great new year so far. I wonder how many people have kept to their new years resolution. I am sticking to mine. I have made an effort to work on this book that I have been compiling in my head over the last year and some change. I kept notes and a few things of stuff from how I want it. I even made a soundtrack of music that I usually listen to for inspiration. You would be surprised in what tunes goes into my literary creation. Here is just a sample of artists and see how diverse it is:
Sade
Pantera
B.B. King
Young Jeezy
Chopin
John Williams
N.W.A
Dean Martin
Armin Van Buren
Robert Glass
Robert Johnson
Drowning Pool
Mozart
I would say Google them if you don't know who they are. But, songs here and there just gets me with the scene. I will have to give you a few background into what I am writing.

It's mostly an anthology of short stories based on this fictitious mega-city. Now when I say mega-city think of one city that composes the entire states of Texas and New York (now concentrate on that) Yes it has everything to robots, vampires, evil corporations and a partridge in a pear tree. Ok maybe not a partridge but it has a Red Robin and an IHOP (pancakes do sound good right now) Right now, I have a third of the first story finished and hope to have it completed within a week or so. I have set a goal to have the whole kabuddle done before December 21st. In case the zombie apocalypse does happen and I get kidnapped by undead strippers or something. muhahahaha

I do laugh at how people think that this world will implode on this day. If people just do some research and use some reason. the Maya had this date set as an end of a particular age. And a new one begins. Just like we are in the age of Aquarius (someone correct me on that mkay) there is no end of the world. Unless bad singers from American Idol do decide to find talent and People of Walmart rise up against the stupidity of themselves then it's time to flee the planet and head out to places unknown. Then again I think the end of the world was adverted by reason of conscious. Rick Perry decided to drop out from the President Race and I'm sorry - I think if you screw up a state as governor, you are automatically disqualified as President. But hell, name me a politician who hasn't screwed up things over the years and leave messes for their successors to clean up. For real though, we still fixing up Slick Willy Clinton's mess off that blue dress of poor Ms. Monica. But, I have a perfect solution for November's election, we should have a "None of the Above" option and if that many is voted, all candidates are dropped and a new set is picked and you have 45 days to kiss babies, make up empty promises and extort kickbackers to win the spots you are running for. Problem solved!!! Don't you think??

Well I think I have blabbled long enough. Who want's to read a small excerpt from my potential Pulitzer Prize winning work?? Ok maybe I am over-exaggerating: have a gander on this and let me know what you think and FYI this is a DRAFT mkay??

He always hated this place. He hated the crowds, the pollution and the crime. Yes, the crime was what he despised the most. However, for Enforcer-Sergeant Boris Kenshaw, crime was his mark in trade. Even after 35 cycles on the force, he hated the job being an enforcer; however he was a 5th generation officer, following his family in what most would consider the family business. However, in his time as an enforcer, he had never seen anything like this.

The bodies were mangled. Heads were smashed, limbs ripped asunder. The walls were painted with blood and entrails. At least two dozen of these destitute victims were found here just a few hours ago. Some unfortunate, maintenance man, trying to find a faulty generator, stumbled onto the bodies. He could only guess that this was either some sort of gang related attack or a sick ritual being performed by some of the machine-cults. Boris knew that both of these have been on the rise as of late as; more so than recently.

The death-examiners, a female wearing a black bodysuit and a mask scanned each body, or what was left of them. The corner-drones, large bulky monstrosities, prepared the corpses for removal on the large morgue carrier nearby. After a few moments, the examiner reached into her black satchel and pulled out a data pad, then punched a few key onto the device.

Her job completed, the death-examiner instructed all the corner-drones to deposit the corpses into the carrier. The enforcer walked toward the lady.

“So, what is the assessment,” Boris asked?

With a disdained look, the examiner began to reply. “This looks like a nothing I had ever seen. However, my first guess would be a sadistic ritual. The symbols on the wall seem to correspond with the idea.” She pointed to the largest mural, his head following the direction. “The symbols are a rendition of the Bloody Piston machine-cult. I have examined some of the bodies for any tats or brands. There was none. So I believe there probably kidnapped citizens or occupants of the Gutters.”

Boris nodded. He thought of her words. The Gutters, was a huge area where the homeless, the unwanted and the forgotten go to survive. It seemed like a likely place for cultists to kidnap or recruit for their evil means. “What could have been used to do such carnage?” Boris questioned.

The death examiner pulled out her data pad and punched a blue rune. A display of possible murder tools appeared. She offered the pad to the Enforcer. He looked at the images of death that could be used for such terror. “Shit!” The Enforcer exclaimed. He saw items like steam powered impact-hammers, diamond studded power saws, and ripper arms. All these tools were used in industrial construction, not destroying life as this. The death-examiner took back the pad that Boris offered. “I will compile the report for the MCD to investigate,” The woman said.

“I suspect that the Murder Crimes Division will have already sent a psychic by now…” Boris began to say just as two heavily armored men walked in. The men were carrying Riot Shotguns. Behind the men, a man in a white robe and a huge gray helmet on the crown of his head.

“It seems that they have arrived as we speak, madam examiner.” Boris said as he nodded to the guard captain.

“Captain Utalla, Murder Crimes Division.” We will take it from here Enforcer.

Boris never liked having his authority usurped, no matter how much he hated the situation he was in at the time. This would be no exception.

“This is my investigation, Captain.” Boris replied. “We have not completed our examinations, but you are always welcome to assist us…”

“Maybe I did not make myself clear, Officer.” Utalla hissed.

“Quite.” Boris replied in a low tone. “However, you do not understand, we are still under a primary investigation. Once we are completed, you can do whatever death-trances you see fit with your, “pet”. But until then, I will be in charge with this. If you have any problems, contact Commander Thompson. But till then, you can co-operate with us or be gone.

Utalla withheld the urge to unload the contents of his shotgun into the brash officer. He controlled his breathing and nodded.

“I mean no disrespect, but you are aware of the nature of the trances. We have to have the area clear before we can let loose the death-trancer. There can be complications and unforeseen results of this place are not clear. So please clear the area.”

“Very well,” Boris finally replied. “We shall clear the zone shortly, let me get my people out of your way.”

“We shall prepare the death-trancer.” Utalla said.

Boris turned and motioned everyone to clear the area, reluctantly. He had seen the death-trancers perform their work. If one can call what they do work. These poor individuals would scour the crime scene and take psychic images of the area from the minds of the freshly killed. To draw some mental picture of who could caused their deaths. The feeling that these psychics project onto others was a very uncomfortable experience and Boris known people to become insane from it.

Resigned to this situation, he needed to get away. When he got the all clear from his subordinates, he approached Utalla, who was with directing a crew carrying a cage that could contain only a death-trancer.

“The scene is clear, you can start whenever,” Boris said.

“Good,” Utalla said. “Now you can leave as well, we shall only be a few minutes and you can return to your investigation.”

“Fine”

Boris turned and walked away, mumbling a very unprofessional word or two under his lips as he did.

Utalla motioned for one of the technicians to open the cage. Steam rose from the enclosure as the bars slowly were lifted. A chill ran through Boris as he felt an intrusion touch his very soul. He could hear the commands of Utalla’s attendants take control of the death-trancer. Boris turned around to get a clear view of this individual. The trancer was female, wearing a vest of confining straps. Her hair was shaved bald and some electronic apparatus with blinking lights dancing across. Her body was wired thin; a full head shorter than Boris. He could not help but notice the two tattoos on her face: one of the letter “G” just under her left eye and the other, a skull protruding with rose petals on her right cheek. Boris recognized it immediately. A gang tattoo. She was one of the Death Rose gang, one of the most dangerous occult gangs in the city. Boris Kenshaw had dealt with the Death Rose before in his time as an enforcer. Ruthless, deadly and will not go down without a firefight to the death. Boris wondered how she was captured to be serving as a death-trancer.

He could see her handlers speaking to her as they guided her to the crime scene. The death-trancer began to speak incoherently. The handler and one officer behind her watching the trancer intently slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny, black box and pressed a red button on the top. As he did so, the device on the trancer’s head blinked red twice and went dark.

He turned to Utalla and said, “All is ready, Sir. We can begin now.”

“Do it,” Utalla demanded.

The death-trancer walked slowly around the murder scene, licking her lips as she toured the murder scene. It was only a few moments when she stopped at one body, a dead female no less than 20 years laid, her body missing an arm and most of her skull. The death-trancer closed her eyes and blew quietly. The handler approached closer, his one had on the black box. The enforcer, had a datapad in his hand, prepared to record any findings the séance may have.

Suddenly, the death-trancer wailed. Her eyes now wide and as black as any night sky.
“Run!” the death-trancer said to no one. “They are shooting at us. Please, don’t hurt me.” The trancer thrashed in her confines. They are so many, we must hide…”

“Who are they,” the handled questioned? “Describe them.”

“They are shooting, they killed Frankster!” The death-trancer wailed louder as she sputtered out the experiences of the dead victims. Boris could not feel a bit nauseated from it all. Just as he was going to leave, he heard a name.

“Spike-Shroud!” The death-trancer said. “Heavens it’s Spike-Shroud!”

Boris knew now who was responsible for this. Spike-Shroud, a man who name spoke fear in most of the citizens of the mega-city. A killer with the most sadistic appetite for hideous pleasures barring on the almost demonic. Spike-Shroud had been on the Enforcers most wanted list for almost as long as Boris has been on the force. So brutal in his methods, however he is almost impossible to apprehend. The only clear indication of identify marker from Spike-Shroud is the black shroud, spotted with blood from his victims and the “hair” made of small spikes, that given him his name. His gang of killers have terrorized Nineveh and its citizens, and the few who even tried to stand to him were brutally murdered. Even some within Boris’s own law-enforcement circle had given this monster a wide berth.

The death-trancer spoke more words and continued to flail around, the handler recording everything possible from this morbid endeavor.

“He speaks of the culling. He has taken Duke!” “The culling…help…”

Culling, Boris thought. What culling? As he tried to gather more of what the death-trancer was speaking, she fell silent, dropped to the ground and being to sob loudly. The handler walked to her and scanned her over with the black device he held.

“Well,” Utalla asked?

“It is complete,’ the handler said as he being to activate the death-trancers headpiece. “She manage to garner some information of the attack. It is Spike-Shroud and his gang.”

Utalla spat, “Oh well damn that psycho bastard to the four hells!” He walked towards the handler and the downed death-trancer. “And her?”

The handler looked at the readout displayed on his device and nodded. “She is fine, a bit exhausted but manageable. We can return her to her carriage. With that he motioned the guards to pick her up and slowly take her to the carriage. The death-trancer kept sobbing speaking under each cry, calling out for dead loved ones that fell to Spike-Shroud and his minions.

Boris could still feel the eerie chill in his bones. Now he knew who did this, now he has to find out why, what is this culling and how to capture this killer. All without being like these poor dregs that lay mangled and torn here.

Catching what’s left of his reserve he started to walk towards his squad car.

“Enforcer,” came a voice from behind. Boris turned around to see Captain Utalla marching towards him. “You can have your scene now, we have complete what we needed. But since this is Spike-Shroud we are dealing with, this will just be checked off as another ignored killing.”

Boris did not want to agree with this man, but Spike-Shroud has committed over six dozen murders over the past few decades: including the own President of the City and his entire family.

“I will find this bastard and serve him the justice he deserves,” Boris said confidently.

Utalla laughed at the notion. “I seriously doubt that, Enforcer. Many have tried to and ended up mounted on some wall or have body parts sent to their next of kin. Trust me on this, it’s best to leave it be. Spike-Shroud is a killer that…”

“Save it,” Boris interjected. “He is human, and any human can be dealt with.”

Utalla shrugged and turned around to leave. “If you are so determined to be on the Fallen Wall, I can tell you that some of his “associates” frequent the Living Sin club in the Hiker District. You can start there, however, I caution you greatly to leave this alone.”

Boris knew of the place and the area. The Hiker District was mostly a grand industrial park; most of the manufactories have been abandoned to be left for the lost and the lawless. And a few of the buildings have become popular night spots for the socially unacceptable. But looking at the time on his watch, he knew his shift would soon end. He will start on his investigation into this string of murders tomorrow. Right now, he needed a good night’s sleep, after a drink that is.

More to come later.

SAW