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Teen Titans Fan Fiction Noir et Bleu (TT, J)

Discussion in 'The Story Board' started by Kregor8, Oct 16, 2006.

  1. Kregor8

    Kregor8 Communitas Ex Nihilo

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    Two years and 11 days ago, as some very few of you may remember, I began a epic fan fiction called "Perfect Vision." Well, two years is a long time to work on a story, and thankfully, I can say that I am a better (i.e. more mature) writer today than I was then. So imagine my surprise, as I reread PV, to find out that it was actually a lot better than I had imagined. Not to mention all the aclaim it got - I was actually part of the Hall of Fame III, I believe. Those were cool days.

    Well, anyway, I still love the story, and want to finish it. But the impression that I got from reading the story was more of a punk's spray-can painting, or a gangster's 12-gauge shotgun blast. It's not pretty, but it gets the job done. Since I feel masters and brushes are more appropriate for painting, and surgeons and scaples more appropriate for organ removal, I'm going to start over.

    So here's the new prologue. You'll notice it's shorter than the old one (758 words vs. 2,007), and leaves more to the imagination. I think that's best, and hopefully you'll find the rest of the story to be more focused, more believable, and hopefully more likeable. After all, though, this is just the prologue, and so it's the main story that matters more. If I want to give you all the whole back history of Trent Touren and his wife, I could always write a short story. Maybe my tastes have just grown too refined for fan-fiction, but I certainly hope not, cause I remember the great times we all used to have.

    So here's to new beginnings. Review away.

    Prologue:

    Like most good photographs, it was a lucky shot. The two leather-clad bikers, the rolling fog obscuring the silver motorcycle, the red light of the police car washing across the silver skin of the alien woman, all combined perfectly in the lens of a lucky police photographer. Tony Dayton won a Pulitzer. His photograph of the unlucky couple was seen by virtually every human in America, and became one of the classic symbols of The Deportation. The alien woman died in prison, but Tony Dayton never knew that.
    Tony had just stopped by the roadblock for a cup of coffee and a chat with his friends. It was Thursday, April 17th, 2014, two days after the United States’ decision to deport all non-human residents from the country. Tuesday morning, the announcement was plastered on every newspaper, blaring from every radio, and being projected from every television. The uproar in the major metropolises of America, especially New York City, was intense, even resulting in street violence and riots. When rouge Tamaranian youths destroyed Galileo Spaceport in Chicago, the government reacted with an iron fist. All non-humans were to be deported to Far Reach City, Luna, for processing. Of course, transport to the moon took time, so every city with a spaceport – the major centers of non-human habitation – including New York, Chicago, Washington DC, Baltimore, Los Angels, Dallas, and Denver, was put under quarantine. Nobody was allowed in or out of these cities, and the quarantine was upheld by the United States Army itself.
    The quarantine, and the fact that Tony and his friends in the Columbia county sheriff’s department were almost four hours outside New York City, meant that neither the photographer nor the officers on duty expected to encounter a fleeing alien. No, the roadblock was designed to catch a car thief who had escaped from the local prison. The block had been in place for five hours and hadn’t netted a single suspect yet when the motorcycle rolled up. It was Officer William Miller who spoke to the couple first.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” he began. “I’m going to need to take off your helmet for a moment. It’s just routine, really, but we need to have positive ID on everyone who comes through here.” The man hesitated a moment, but removed his helmet. It was his eyes that struck Tony the most – blazing orange orbs that seemed almost luminous in the foggy gloom of the roadblock. Their brightness was only made more intense by the darkness of the man’s hair and goatee. His sharply chiseled features exuded boldness – defiance against impossible odds. It was not, however, the man that all attention was focused on.
    “Ma’am, I have to ask you to remove your helmet too.” And she did. The blaze of silver skin was all that was needed to identify her as a Skalmothian. Her purple tinged hair fell out of the helmet around her shoulders, and Tony snapped the picture.
    * * *
    Burke and Zappa – Private Investigators. Trent Touren glanced at the worn sign above the door before stepping inside. There were two desks inside, with a disheveled man behind each one. Trent approached the desk bearing the placard “Burke.”
    “Mr. Burke?”
    “No, I’m Zappa,” the thin man said, pointing to the placard. Trent looked at the other detective, who motioned for him to cross over.
    “Can I help you?” the larger detective asked.
    “I had asked you to find the current whereabouts of Kristen Touren for me.”
    “Ah yes,” Burke answered. “We spoke on the phone.”
    “Well?”
    “Ah yes,” the man mumbled, rifling through the papers that covered the desk. “Kristen Touren – native of Skalmothia, born 1994 (U.T. 12,439), married 2013 to Trent Touren, died 2014 on…”
    “Died?”
    “Ah yes, it says here that she died on the moon just this past week from a form of “moon virus” that Skalmothians are particularly susceptible to. Her husband lives here in New York, if you’d like his address…”
    “No, that won’t be necessary.”
    “Ah, yes,” the detective mumbled. “Our fee is as discussed, then.” Trent tossed an envelope of money on the counter and turned to leave.
    “Wait a moment, sir!” Burke called out as Trent’s hand touched the door knob. “I was just looking at this photograph of Kristen Touren, and I noticed that she looks remarkably similar to the alien on the front page of yesterday’s Times. Is she any relation?”
    Trent gave the detective a black look. “I’m sure all aliens look the same to you.” Burke winced as the door slammed.
    ~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

    There you go. And please don't tell me it's perfect, cause I know it's not. If I wasn't looking for helpful comments, I wouldn't post here - I'd just try to publish the darn thing. Oops, Teen Titans are copyrighted. Scratch that idea. :D

    7<regor

    Ps. Here's the link to Perfect Vision if any of you wish to refresh your memories. [thread=123588]Teen Titans: Perfect Vision[/thread]
     
  2. SecretNinja

    SecretNinja Robin's missing his pants.

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    Hmm Interesting....Long time no see Kregor. I think I sorta remember this story from good ol' times. Well its off to a pretty good start, with all its futuristic ways and such. So its a prologue...not much else to say...ill just wait till more comes.

    Later.

    -S-N-
     
  3. Matt A

    Matt A Smile. Or Else.

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    First up, I need to say the following: welcome back to the funny farm, Kregor. It's always good to have an old colleague knocking about again.:anime:

    But still, as much as I'd like to shoot the breeze and all that stuff, this is a literary talkback thread, so I shall skip the chat and move straight onto the discussion. It must be said, commenting on a re-write is always tricky, and whilst I'm still not sure what to say, this particular re-write is enough of a change for me to provide some original thoughts.

    Firstly, I like the new title. A superficial reading (specifically the word "noir") gives you an instant pointer to the story's style (again, "noir"), but if you know the english translation...well, I already know just how noirish this story gets, and it seems like you won't be changing that one jot. Which is cool.:anime::evil: Anyway, the title: in short, I'm rather fond of ones with double meanings. Shows the author has some intelligence.;)

    So, to the prologue itself. A key thing to note is that, even with the most merciless of re-writes, scenes seldom get changed as completely as these two: in fact, if my memory serves me correctly, they're both entirely new. It's always good to see a writer have "the good of the story" so centrally in mind.:anime:

    And, whilst the length is drastically reduced, the style of the piece remains exactly the same: dark and mysterious, with an interesting tinge of philosophy. It was primarily this style that made the original story one of my favourites - and, it must be said, a style I've attempted to copy many times - so the fact that the gloomy ambience remains is very satisfying. Better yet, you've also seemed to address my one and only gripe with the original: the opening chapters were very confusing. Here, the exposition has been boiled down to its barest essentials, giving us clear and simple concepts to latch onto - aliens are banned from America, Trent has subsequently become a widow, and all is generally not well as of 2014 - without adding in so much detail that we can't seperate what we need to know from what we don't. True, I'm sorry to see the back of the original scene where Trent puts a knife in his father's bedroom wall, but what you've replaced such heavyweight genius with here works just as well. In particular, I liked the second scene with the PIs: not only did it give us an exact snapshot of Trent, with his anger and desire to not go "by the book", but with his "I'm sure all aliens look the same to you" comment, also a clear indication that he's one of a very short list who care about the current state of things.

    In other words, a very impressive way to re-start a story. There's no way I'm not keeping an eye on this.;):anime:

    -Matt A-
     
  4. TeenTitansGO!

    TeenTitansGO! expremental Upnnas

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    Welcome back!

    Seeing as I never read Perfect Vision or any of your work, it's nice to see you hear starting a new piece. As I read it I'm reminded a teeny weeny bit of Marvel Civil War, but that's so much more intense on the regulation stuff. You should check it out, but anyway, could work. It feels a little empty, but it's a prologue. Overall, very nice.

    TTG~Matt H. My happy little Toonzone world is reforming
     
  5. JazzyChick

    JazzyChick Bass players are misunderstood

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    I am ashamed to say that I never did read Perfect Vision. But I should have *beats self up*

    Anyway, I loved the prologue. Dark, mysterious, very well written and leaving you wanting more. I liked the length as well. I can't stand it when prologues are really long, I can't pay attention long enough to read them...:sweat:

    No complaints!

    -Miss Jazzy (that just sounds so cool)

    P.S. my happy little Toonzone world is reforming too!
     
  6. Oh look I'm...

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    Kregor! Nice to have you back!:cool:

    So this is a revision of "Perfect Vision"? Well whatever it is, it's cool. I mean, really cool. The prologue addresses a prejudice that, for the most part, has been overlooked by most of the DC universe. Again, some people have written a little on it, but it's nice to see you going against the current with them.;)

    Please continue!
     
  7. Kregor8

    Kregor8 Communitas Ex Nihilo

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    Chapter One

    There's something extremely ironic about this posting. The prologue of Noir et Bleu came out 2 years and 11 days after the original start of Perfect Vision. The first chapter is coming out 2 years, 1 month, and 25 days after the prologue. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I don't know if any of the old readers are still on this forum. But it's late at night, and my insomnia is worse than ever. So what better to do than revist my past? I need to write more fiction. It's cathartic like nothing else.

    I hope you all like this. I would appreciate constructive comments (although I won't say no to people just telling me they like it).

    2,054 words.
    Chapter One:

    In New England, October is a beautiful month. The blazing oranges of the leaves, the barest hint of winter on the oh-so-clear air, the smell of apples; people come from all over the country to enjoy these things. But this wasn’t New England. This was Jump City.

    Nobody comes to Jump City in October. It rains constantly, until it starts snowing. People aren’t happy, and they aren’t friendly either. They don’t live in Jump City because they want to; they live there because they have no choice. The city is cold, dark, and grey – it welcomes no one.

    From inside Trent Touren’s office, the last light of a dreary Wednesday filtered through the glass. Touren rested his elbows on the rickety old desk, running his fingers through his wiry, black hair. Everything in the room was old, from the telephone to the furniture, to the record player in the corner that was making its way through Mahler’s 6th. Antique was no longer the style of America, and that was one reason why it prevailed here – a rebel’s last outpost. Only the computer was new – technology is too great a resource for a bounty hunter to resist.

    Sunlight glinted off the “Touren – Bounty Hunter” plaque on the front door as it swung open. Trent looked up, hoping for a last minute client, but instead he saw only his landlord. The elderly Italian man trudged into the room.

    “Rent’s due on Friday.”

    “I know,” Trent returned.

    “Can’t be late this month. Got bills – shut down your power.”

    “It’ll be on time, Mr. Travolli.”

    “Just reminding you,” the old man grumbled as he left the office, shutting the
    door behind him. As he left, the phonograph ground to an end. With a sigh, Trent stood to turn the record over. Behind him the door creaked back open. The bounty hunter turned, suspecting his landlord had come back to remind him of something else, but the figure that stepped through the door was a young woman with long black hair held in a single braid.

    “Trent Touren?”

    “That’s me,” he answered, replacing the phonograph. Music softly filled the room again as the woman closed the door.

    “I have a job I wish to hire you for,” she stated, brushing water droplets off of her long black coat.

    “Please, sit down,” Trent replied, indicating the chair in front of the desk and taking a seat himself. “Let’s talk.” The woman removed her jacket, placing it on the back of the chair before taking a seat. When she spoke, her voice was soft, yet flat and almost toneless.

    “Mr. Touren, I’ve heard about your work, and know you have a reputation for success, along with great care. The job that I’m proposing requires a great deal of care.”

    “Please continue.”

    “I am aware that you normally run missing-person jobs, but my situation is slightly different. In fact, it is potentially illegal.”

    “I trust that if you had wanted the law to handle the job you are proposing, you would have gone directly to them, Miss…”

    “McCrae. Jennifer McCrae. Indeed, I see your reputation is well deserved. The job I am proposing is the acquisition of a parcel being transported by secure carrier from a location in the east to Jump City Proper. I recall that you have done several such operations before, am I correct?”

    The ancient desk chair groaned as Trent leaned back. At first, he had been merely curious at the appearance of such a respectable woman in a bounty hunter’s office – now he was downright suspicious. “You seem to know a lot about me, Miss McCrae,” he offered casually.

    “I make it my business to know everything I can about those I wish to work with.”

    “Indeed,” Trent answered, rising from his wooden chair and walking to the window. “Then I regret to inform you, Miss McCrae, that someone has given you false information about me. As you plainly know, my primary occupation is the finding of missing persons. And yes, I also have been put in the position where I must retrieve certain possessions that have…“gone missing.” But I never,” he continued, opening the blinds, “seize items of contested ownership.”

    The dark city stared back through the window at him, like a twisted person, hateful and bitter. Trent let the blind drop closed with an audible snap. “So you see, Miss McCrae, I cannot help you.”

    She was a fairly attractive girl, he thought, as he studied her face for reaction. Smooth pale skin was made all the more prominent by the shining jet of her foot long hair, accented by a small but ornate silver clasp that secured her braid. Her dark blue sweater came right to her chin, which was pointed, yet subtle. Her lips, ears, and nose were also small and dainty, and Jennifer McCrae’s smile was cold, holding just the faintest hint of self-satisfied amusement. But the features that most struck Trent Touren were the girl’s eyes—fathomless wells of deep sapphire. They were inscrutable, those eyes, yet they gave Trent a vague sense of familiarity, like he had stared into those eyes for countless hours years ago.

    “I believe you’re wrong, Mr. Touren.”

    “Do you?” He continued his cold analysis of his client, moving from the face to the whole head, looking at shapes rather than details. People can make minor changes to their appearances – a new hair color, a nose ring, a scar, a different color lipstick. When people wanted to hide who they were, they changed these things. Trent had learned long ago that the distinctiveness of people – the shape of the skull, the length of the nose, the width of the shoulder or length of the neck, were much harder to change. If you wanted to know who somebody was, these were what you had to look at.

    “Once, an Italian man paid you ten thousand dollars to retrieve a woman’s engagement ring. You took the ten thousand. Again, a young girl asked you to bring her a photograph of her mother that had been stolen by her uncle. You did that for free. If that isn’t enough, I know of instances where you have hijacked computer data, stolen government records, and even freed a Tamaranian man from Federal prison. All these things were “items” of contested ownership. So, you see, precedent alone shows that you are the right man for this job.”

    Her comments shocked Trent – how on Earth could she possibly know all these things about him? True, he had some small reputation around Jump City, but the jobs she had mentioned, while all true, had been kept fairly quiet. And nobody knew of his part in the Tamaranian jail break, except the man himself, and last Trent had heard, he had left the planet. He couldn’t let someone who possessed such dangerous knowledge about him just walk away, especially when that person was offering to pay him for his cooperation.

    “Alright,” Trent said, looking back at those eyes, “let’s suppose for a moment that you’re right. Since you seem to know so much about me, you must know my usual terms of employment. What was your proposed method of payment?” Jennifer McCrae casually laid an envelope of bills on the table.

    “Four and a half now, seven when we finish. I can pay in cash or in a secure digital bank chit, if you prefer.” Now Trent was truly worried. The first rule of bounty hunting was “never trust somebody who seems to know more about you than you do.” The second rule was “never take a job from somebody who throws around too much money.” Trent moved from the window towards the phonograph, discretely putting himself between Miss McCrae and the door.

    “Your offer is very tempting, but I’m concerned by the lack of details on the job. From what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t be able to guarantee success of the job. What else could you share with me?”

    Jennifer McCrae pulled a sheaf of photographs her coat and spread them on the table. “There is a courier traveling from Washington D.C. carrying a parcel of documents from a National Defense Firm to a private defense company in Jump City Proper. These documents contain, among other things, information on the production of a new biological weapon called Arakis. It causes a breakdown of the respiratory system, and its principle component is an orange, cinnamon-like powder.”

    “What are the other components?”

    “Water. The powder is useless on its own – it has to be mixed with water to take effect.”

    “Can it be inhaled in water vapor?”

    “The details of the weapon are still unknown to me. Frankly, nobody outside the development team knows anything more about the weapon than what I’ve already told you, especially if it can be countered, and how. The package from the NDF, however, contains all this information. The NDF is sending the package to the Coulter-Franklin Defense Organization to perform further tests and continue development on the weapon.”

    “A National Defense Firm means the military will be involved.”

    “Typically, yes, but in this case, the NDF is attempting to be covert, and is sending only one secure courier.”

    “It seems they weren’t low profile enough.”

    “No, they weren’t. Their security was severely compromised. A well known eco-terrorist organization was able to turn the delivery agent. They plan to seize the virus and use it to return the world to a more primitive state.”

    “And you work for these individuals?”

    “No,” the woman said. “I work for myself.”

    “So,” Trent responded as the picture began to become clear to him. “You want to acquire the virus before it either gets to the CFDO or is seized by eco-terrorists.”

    “Exactly,” she replied. “It’ll be like the Malachi job.” There was something wrong with this whole situation. Trent had received some strange cases like this before, and hard-up for money, he had taken them. But nobody had ever known so much about his job history, nor had he ever had this strange sense of familiarity he now felt. Where had he seen this woman before?

    Suddenly, it hit him. The woman adjusted her bangs with her left hand, and he remembered where he had seen that gesture before. The face, the physique, the voice and mannerisms—they all fit one description.

    “So, where exactly am I supposed to intercept these papers?” he asked.

    “You’ll be meeting me at Old Town Hall tonight at 7:00 PM. The transfer to the terrorists is taking place in an office building near there. We’ll intercept the agent on his way to the drop-off.”

    “Do you have a contingency plan if the terrorists intercept the material before I do?”

    “It would be best if that didn’t happen. Still, between the two of us, we should be able to do this quickly and cleanly.”

    “I don’t work directly with my clients. Knowing as much about me as you do, you know what happened the last time I allowed that. The only time.” Her eyes narrowed.

    “Clint Owens was inexperienced and foolishly interfered with your progress. His death was not your fault. I, on the other hand, have experience in this field of work, as well as knowledge of the enemy that will be crucial to this operation. There is no way that I could impart it to you in the short time that we have. If one person was able to carry out this task, I would not have approached you.”

    “What kind of experience do you have?” Trent asked. If his suspicion on his client’s identity was accurate, he decided, he was willing to work with her. Raven of the Titans had a reputation that would more than make up for what she was hiding from him. Hopefully. If he was right. Miss McCrae laid a New York City detective badge next to the photographs.

    “Satisfied?”

    As Trent reached for the badge, an image of Kristen flashed into his mind. She just sat there, framed in red and blue, before being dragged away to die in some god-forsaken moon base. Everyone knew Tony Dayton’s damned Pulitzer photograph, but only Trent could see her eyes. He dropped the badge onto the desk. The smack of brass on wood signified his resolve.

    “Yes. I’ll take the job.”

    Well, there it is. Come back for chapter two in 2010. :D

    7<regor
     
  8. rrarbecy

    rrarbecy I'm Back!

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    I very much enjoyed that, Kreg ol' buddy. I figured that, since I'm on Christmas break right now, I'd try to start writing again. And what happens when I start to check back, but I find you here. How lucky can I get? That was a very good setup for the rest of the story and I hope that it doesn't take until 2010 for it to be updated :).
     
  9. Kregor8

    Kregor8 Communitas Ex Nihilo

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    Nice to see one of the old faces. I'm glad to know somebody is enjoying this. I was getting a little discouraged, after a month of no posts. I wrote out a draft for chapter 2, but I decided that I want to change some things, specifically with the physical layout of the city, so it'll probably be another week before I get chapter two done. Since this is a re-write, instead of a make-it-up-as-you-go, I want to make sure that I have internal consistency. I made up a bunch of things as I went along last time that I think are really cool, but I have to make sure they fit with the story that I'm going for. For instance, as much as I liked Raven's flashback to Terra's resurrection, I've decided to cut Terra and Beast Boy/Man completely from the story, just to keep things clean and simple. I'm also cutting Bert and Ernie (though I thought it was funny), and probably limiting the involvement of Robin and Star's family. I thought that Haste was freaking awesome, and apparently the readers did as well, so I want to keep him, even if I kill him off quickly. I have another story that I want to write with him anyway, so I'm going to invent him, perhaps just for that purpose.

    I don't have work over break yet, so I do have quite a bit of free time on my hands. I'd read up on whoever else is writing on here, but it seems that nobody is. Perhaps I can get chapter 2 done sooner than expected.
     
  10. rrarbecy

    rrarbecy I'm Back!

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    Well, to tell you the truth, I remember absolutely nothing about your old story, so this is like reading something completely new to me.

    By the way, I wish this didn't seem so barren. I remember when this place was full of writers. When we all were friends and everything. I miss that. I'd like to get in touch with some of the old writers, wouldn't you. I remember that I sent Matt A. and e-mail recently, but he never got back to me. Do you think it would be a good idea to try and get in contact with our old friends?
     
  11. Kregor8

    Kregor8 Communitas Ex Nihilo

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    Chapter Two (Part 1)

    Well, I've decided that I'm going to post this part of the chapter now, because I'm stuck. Hopefully this will help me to get past my block. It's only 1,107 words (way too short for a full chapter), but like I said, this is only the first half. You can get a general idea of what comes next if you know Perfect Vision, but I'm struggling over where to cut and where to expand. So here we go. Hopefully I'll get some reads, but more importantly, hopefully I'll get some comments.

    Chapter Two

    During the heyday of the Teen Titans, Jump City was a clean, safe, and thriving city. Even after The Titans disbanded in 2013, the city remained one of the most crime-free and livable metropolises in America. The Deportation changed all of that. In March of 2014, Jump City had a twenty percent non-human population, third behind only Chicago and New York. When The Deportation Act was passed on April 15th, those three million aliens exploded in violent opposition to deportation. The United States Army was called in to suppress the chaos, and proceeded to slaughter non-humans wholesale. No accurate count was ever taken of how many died in proceeding months of urban warfare, or how many withered away in Far Reach Penal Colony on Luna, but entire portions of the city were rendered unlivable.


    In December, the long-time mayor of Jump City announced that the government would be moving out of the southern peninsula of the city and building new structures east of Titan’s Bay. The third of the city west of the bay quickly acquired the title “Old Jump.” The marble structures of the old government seat, in all their neoclassical glory, were deemed to stink too much of Washington. Their glass and steel replacements loomed over the bay, a modern man’s tribute to himself. The formerly revered T-shaped tower that still stood, unoccupied and untouched in the middle of the bay, was dwarfed not only by the height of the new government seat, but by its pretension.


    Over a period of months, the government offices that filled downtown Old Jump were converted into housing projects. Ownership disputes were settled quietly out of court as the Italians established their control of downtown, and a quiet if uneasy peace returned to Old Jump City. Trent Touren lived and worked two blocks from the Old Town Hall, a massive marble and granite structure that housed some of the most expensive residences in the block.


    Trent Touren crouched behind a partially destroyed monument that still stood outside Old Town Hall, just to get out of wind. Rain didn’t seem to be taking the effort to fall—it simply hung in the air until the wind blew it into something. Water beaded up on Trent’s leather trench coat and matted his hair to his head. It was 7:03 PM, and he had been waiting for nearly ten minutes. He considered simply leaving his mysterious client to work out her mission on her own. If Jennifer McCrae was simply a New York detective, any number of things could have happened to her. Trent had little enough respect for the denizens of his former city. But if she really was Raven from the Titans…


    Lightning momentarily illuminated the square. Marble pillars stood as giant’s teeth, grinning defiance towards the forces of society that had cast them from glory. Trent wondered how anyone ever dared live in a place like this.


    Suddenly, a blast rocked the square. A tremendous piece of one of the neighboring government-structures-turned-condos collided with the monument Trent Touren crouched behind, showering debris around him. The bounty hunter threw himself up against the monument and drew his oversized Smith & Wesson revolver. Fire belched from the hole in the third story of the building as a screaming man, engulfed in flames, was flung from the midst of the inferno. He hit the ground with a sickening splatter, and lay steaming as the bitter cold rain extinguished the flames.


    Trent recognized the insignia of Parsecs, a national securities company, on the charred shoulder of the body. That must have been the courier, Trent reasoned, hoping that his client had a stronger backup plan than she had indicated in his office. His powerful legs quickly covered the two hundred yards across the square to the burning building. The door was closed, but Trent stepped cleanly through it, holding his gun at the ready. Immediately in front of him was a staircase, which he quickly ascended. As he climbed, the air began to glow with the orange incandescence of flame. At the third floor, a fire door held back the blaze, but he could see silhouetted figures struggling amidst the flames. Three of them were large, hulking men, but one of the figures was clearly the slim and feminine McCrae. He drew a deep breath and stepped through the door.


    Trent Touren’s mutant power allowed him to pass easily through solid objects, and would protect him from physical attacks from knives or fists, but it did nothing to combat fire. The moisture that had accumulated on his jacket disappeared in a cloud of steam as he brought his gun to bear on one of the men and squeezed the trigger. The .50 caliber bullet howled from Trent’s cannon towards the man closest to his client. Jennifer McCrae threw up her arms as her opponent’s head exploded in a shower of sparks and wires.


    “Stop the robots!” she yelled at the bounty hunter, kicking the ruined shell of her assailant to the side. Trent aimed at the second robot as it seized a burning beam. His Smith & Wesson roared its opinion of the seven foot tall robot, but the bullet buried itself in its rust-colored chest with no apparent effect. Trent dove to the side as the beam the robot had lifted flew towards him. The wall buckled under the impact, and fresh air leaked into the room, fanning the flames.


    Three short barks drowned out the roar of the flames as Jennifer McCrae leveled a small-caliber automatic against the robot. Although her gun had far less stopping power than Trent’s massive revolver, her shots hit the lightly armored knees of robot, dropping it with a crash. Trent finished the job with a single bullet between the robot’s eyes.


    “No!” Jennifer McCrae suddenly yelled, as the last rust-colored machine hurled itself into the night sky, a silver attaché case clutched in its right hand. Sleet sizzled on steel as it sprinted across the square and into the darkness. “We have to follow it,” she said, rushing to the edge.


    “Wait,” Trent started to say, but she had already leapt through the gap. Moonlight and sleet bathed her for an instant, before a black shadow wrapped itself around her and she disappeared. “Damn,” he muttered, scrambling to the edge. “It was Raven!”


    Just then, a spotlight hit him dead in the chest.


    “This is Jump City Police!” a voice barked. “Drop your weapon and put your hands behind your head!” This is going to be a great night, Touren thought, as he watched his revolver tumble to the ground three stories below.

    So there we go so far. Here is a video that shows you what the gun that Trent uses is. His theory (as will be explained later) is that if you want to kill somebody, use a small gun, but if you want to intimidate somebody, use the biggest gun you can find. Also, being slightly traditionalist, he prefers the revolver to an automatic.
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EoJowwbhu8&feature=related

    There. Now you know.
    Here's hoping for some helpful responses.
    7<regor
     
  12. rrarbecy

    rrarbecy I'm Back!

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    Ah, so what we all (or what's left of us) suspected is finally revealed to be true: Trent's mysterious client is indeed our beloved Raven. Plus, the case of the mysterious...um...case...is presented to us. The contents of the case and the nature of Raven's mission, however, shall remain a mystery in your capable hands to be revealed when you see fit. I can't wait until that time comes.
     
  13. rrarbecy

    rrarbecy I'm Back!

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    Kreg? You alive?
     
  14. rrarbecy

    rrarbecy I'm Back!

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    Looks like I'll have to, though.:shrug:
     
  15. Kregor8

    Kregor8 Communitas Ex Nihilo

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    Believe it or not, I am actually alive. My suspended my creative writing back in February because of a lot of personal/emotional/educational crisis that needed to be dealt with. Thankfully, almost everything has been finally worked out. I'm in my senior year at school now, and it's been pretty easy so far. Enough that I've been glancing over my notes for this story. Whether I'll have the time or energy to get another piece put out in the near future remains to be seen. But since you're really my only reader left, and I'm pretty much par for the course on producing material, this isn't really a surprise.
     
  16. rrarbecy

    rrarbecy I'm Back!

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    He LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVES!!!!!
     
  17. Crowgirl

    Crowgirl Active Member

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    As another person who hasn't logged in for years, I must say that it is quite good to be back. :)

    And as always, Kregor, your work is wonderful. I do enjoy your thrillers very much. :)

    Ahhh... I'm inserting so many smilies. I must be in a good mood or something.
     
  18. TeenTitansGO!

    TeenTitansGO! expremental Upnnas

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    OH MY GOD! Crow! Holy crap, I was talking about this place with caligorae the other day. I miss our fun times. Kreg, i think we talk now and again on facebook. rrarbecy, nice to see you. I actually watched Titans today for the first time in a long time. Guys, if you want, I think it'd be awesome to friend you on Facebook. PM me.
     

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