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- The Martian Virus
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| The Martian Virus; Kale and Fish | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 13 2013, 07:04 PM (144 Views) | |
| Wallace | Feb 13 2013, 07:04 PM Post #1 |
Break out the L-word. The other L-word.
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A spaceman crests one of the many dunes of Mars. Beyond this dune lies the crater Tartarus, where what was once the biggest mining operation in the Solar System has been reduced to a rusting ruin, beginning to blend in with the surrounding iron oxide landscape. Everything turns to rust, she thinks, even the sky. -- She pressed a button on her helmet and a ploppish beep confirmed her radio's readiness to receive. "Be careful, Andre'. I know this is your first expedition to help me collect samples, and you're no idiot, but it's probably important I stress the dangers to you: We're running on four hours of oxygen and solar wind protection. You make a tear in your suit, and I have to leave you behind. Same goes for me. We go down, get the samples, don't lollygag about, and then return to Curie base. "You got all that?" She listened intently to the static in her earpiece that the solar wind generated, waiting for the reply. |
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| Juice | Feb 14 2013, 06:48 PM Post #2 |
Mexican hot-wings.
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Andre' carefully maneuvered around machinery while looking for the dead body of a miner. Outside all the metal had turned to rust, and it would have likely smelled of death, if Andre' could smell anything while inside the suit. "Oh, yeah uh. That's pretty bad I'm guessing." Andre' stuttered. He didn't have the same qualifications as the rest of the scientists who were sent to Mars. Andre' was only sent to watch over a criminal that was vital to their expedition, and so far had done his job fairly well. Carson Anders sat in the corner of his room, his leg chained to the wall. Carson began to pull on his hair while he pounded his head against the wall: thud, thud, thud. It smelled of death, and the presence of old acquaintances still lingered in his mind. Even in passing moments when they each would only exchange a few words, he had company. The murder he was convicted of never happened in his mind, and he'd never heard the name of his victim before the trial. Carson stood up and stared out of the air-locked window, there was nothing but rust and dust left of their expedition gone wrong. Where was his guard anyway? Andre' had been gone about a half an hour and he began to worry about how Carson was going, he knew how furious he could become when left alone. Then there was his separate personality that came out randomly, without needing to be provoked. Andre' ran his hands over the body of a dead miner and collected a sample of the dust on the miner's body into a vial separate from the vial with the rust in it. "I, I've got it." Andre' informed Evelyn as he gulped down a lump that had lingered in his throat since he exited the base. |
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| Wallace | Feb 16 2013, 01:37 PM Post #3 |
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Break out the L-word. The other L-word.
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"Alright," Eve radioed back. She had collected her own samples, one of the rust and one of the dust from a corpse. "Let's get out of here and back to Curie." Barry Delacroix was a rather hefty man, and so in the absence of Andre' in his usual post guarding Anders, he was thought ideal by Supervisor Smith to take over the position until Andre' and Evelyn returned from their expedition to collect samples of the virus. He sighed while he leaned against the wall next to the door to Anders' cell, wondering why he should be loaded with such a boring task. All he did was wait and listen for Anders to make any sort of funny noises or call out, and he probably wasn't going to be receiving any sort of bonus for his work. Delacroix was the resident detective. This was thought necessary by the President when she ordered this mission, seeing as it was a rather complex one that should be kept as much as possible a matter between this small colony on Mars and the Oval Office. Even Delacroix didn't know all the facts; but then again, neither did anyone else, except perhaps the supervisor. Everyone working at the Marie Curie Research Facility was only informed as much as was necessary in order for them to complete their responsibility. All Delacroix knew was that something had gone wrong on some secret mining operation nearby in the Tartarus Crater, and that they had been sent to figure out what exactly it was. It was some sort of virus, he knew, which he thought funny. Of course, he said, the first encounter with extraterrestrial life tries to kill us. A lot of the people here had complicated-sounding positions, like biochemist, genetic engineer, and quantum mechanic. Delacroix was a simple man: he was the detective, and if anyone stepped outta line, he'd smack their ass right back into it. He sighed, figuring there had to be some way to make this more interesting. He turned to the door, looked through the window to make sure ol' Anders was chained up right, and entered the room. "Howdy, Anders, man," he said as he removed his hat. That hat had caused him a lot of trouble trying to get here. People wondered why he needed a hat in a contained environment on planet Mars. "I'm the detective," he had said, "and I figure a detective needs a fedora." People let him have his way. He was a man people were afraid to quarrel too much with. "How's things?" he asked, sitting down in a chair, a safe distance away from the convicted murderer. |
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| Juice | Feb 17 2013, 10:29 AM Post #4 |
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Mexican hot-wings.
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Carson got up from out of the corner, hunched his back, and quickly turned his head toward the cell door. "Howdy, Anders, man." "My name is Carson, and I'd appreciate if you respect that. I'm a very distinguished scientist, and don't take disrespect from the likes of you." Carson spat at the detective. He didn't care much for police men or detectives after being convicted, especially having been falsely accused in his mind. "How's things?" "Fine enough, I suppose." Carson responded to the kind man's question. Carson guessed the man sitting outside the cell was being nice enough to him, and it was about time he showed some manners towards him. "Still pretty boring being stuck in here without any work to do. Let me ask you something, detective, do you think I actually killed the man I was convicted of killing?" Edited by Juice, Feb 17 2013, 01:42 PM.
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| Wallace | Feb 25 2013, 05:27 PM Post #5 |
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Break out the L-word. The other L-word.
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"Eh, sure you're ... distinguished, bud. Sure you are. Whatever blows your dress up." He tried to at least pretend to be nice to the poor guy. He was batshit, Delacroix knew; can't much help that. He reminisced briefly upon the world of only a few centuries ago, where they knew what Delacroix knew now: surest way to help a lunatic is to put a bullet between his eyes. But no: now, things were all humane this, and rehabilitation that. Made a man want to puke. But hey, gotta do what brings you dinner, he figured, so protecting this nut it was. He clucked his tongue and exhaled through pursed lips. "Well, I'm sure you know how incriminating the evidence was against you," he said, almost like talking to a child. "You can't really blame me for being inclined to say, 'guilty.'" He shrugged. "Guess that's what all cons say, right? 'I didn't do it, it was a setup, I been framed!'" He laughed. "Oh, but I guess you ain't one of them, huh? Betcha you're really innocent, huh?" |
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| Juice | Feb 26 2013, 06:46 PM Post #6 |
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Mexican hot-wings.
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"Eh, sure you're ... distinguished, bud. Sure you are. Whatever blows your dress up." "It feels ... good, to be acknowledged. Though I could do without your quite obvious sarcasm, dearest detective, or did you not think I'd recognize you and your role?" Carson added. "I know you may think I'm insane, but I'm capable enough to recognize a man of the law." Carson began to tap on the bars with a rhythm of three: thud, thud, thud. "I could burst out of here, and leave you battered, on the ground, questioning what happened, but I won't. Don't make me change my mind, detective." Thud, thud, thud. "Well, I'm sure you know how incriminating the evidence was against you," he said, almost like talking to a child. "You can't really blame me for being inclined to say, 'guilty.'" He shrugged. "Guess that's what all cons say, right? 'I didn't do it, it was a setup, I been framed!'" He laughed. "Oh, but I guess you ain't one of them, huh? Betcha you're really innocent, huh?" "I know of the evidence, detective, but it's false. I wasn't guilty of the murder, I don't know how they got the evidence they did, but somehow they did. I'm not a con, and I didn't say I was framed. I asked if you thought I committed the crime, the least you can do is answer my question properly, and I think I'm innocent. Not everyone does." Carson responded. |
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| Wallace | Feb 26 2013, 07:49 PM Post #7 |
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Break out the L-word. The other L-word.
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"Hmph," grunted the detective. "Well, I'm no psychologist or nothin', but I swear to God Almighty you've got all the signs of severe paranoid schizophrenia." He opened up his meaty hand and started pointing to his fingers as he listed them off, talking in a pseudo-intellectual manner: "Think everyone's out to get you: check. Delusions of grandeur: check. Believing things plainly false: check." He stepped up to Carson, and grabbed him by the neck. "Take a listen, quack. You're about as free to beat the shit outta me as I am to up and sudden combust. And you're in no position to make any complaints 'bout how I talk to you. You know what I think? I think you did murder the sunuvabitch. I think you did it like the psycho you are." He leaned his head in to Carson's ear, whispering through his yellowed teeth, his breath rank and smelling strongly of black coffee. "You know what I think about you? I think we oughta just shuttle you out to space so you can shrivel up and die. Ever seen a man implode in the vacuum out there? I have. Gruesome shit. The only thing keepin' me from doin' it's the goddamned law. The very same law that locked up for murder, and the very same law that got you out. That, if you ask me, is what the hell is wrong with the world." He finally let go of Carson, throwing him down. He spat on him. "Hope your guard comes back soon. I'm already sick and tired of your fucking batshit mouth." |
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| Juice | Mar 2 2013, 07:34 PM Post #8 |
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Mexican hot-wings.
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"Well, I'm no psychologist or nothin', but I swear to God Almighty you've got all the signs of severe paranoid schizophrenia." "Is that so, detective? Well as you said, you're no expert in the topic, so if I did suffer from that I think I might know a little better than you do." Carson replied as he proceeded to lie on the floor of his cell. "I don't get you, detective. Why are you at the base, hm? Do you even know what we're doing here?" Carson asked the detective as he lifted his head to get a good look at him. "Think everyone's out to get you: check. Delusions of grandeur: check. Believing things plainly false: check." "Seems like you are a bit of an expert to me," Carson laughed as he laid his head back down, "Whatever, perhaps I do suffer from some sort of mental illness, but that's none of your concern. You didn't come here because of me, there's no need to study me." Carson let out a hearty laugh, and glared at the detective. "Take a listen, quack. You're about as free to beat the shit outta me as I am to up and sudden combust. And you're in no position to make any complaints 'bout how I talk to you. You know what I think? I think you did murder the sunuvabitch. I think you did it like the psycho you are." Carson spat in the detective's face and laughed hysterically in his face, letting saliva get all over the detective's face as he spoke. Carson wiped the sweat on his face and cleared his eyes with a rag tucked into his coat. "You know what I think about you? I think we oughta just shuttle you out to space so you can shrivel up and die. Ever seen a man implode in the vacuum out there? I have. Gruesome shit. The only thing keepin' me from doin' it's the goddamned law. The very same law that locked up for murder, and the very same law that got you out. That, if you ask me, is what the hell is wrong with the world." Suddenly Carson went silent and stared at the ground, before glancing back up at the detective. "Perhaps you're right, detective. That's probably exactly what I deserve, and I don't know. I probably killed that man, honestly I have trouble making sense of anything anymore." Carson breathed out and sighed. "Hope your guard comes back soon. I'm already sick and tired of your fudgeing batshit mouth." Carson got back up after the guard threw him on the ground and proceeded to walk back over to his corner and hit his head against the wall: thud, thud, thud. |
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