Basically, write exactly 700 words as fast as possible, with a mind to making it as completely and utterly bat-shit crazy as possible as well. No revision. This is a pure speed thing. It's based off an exercise I used to do at my old school for writer's block. The idea is that the faster you write, the less time you have for self-deprecation and hence the more you'll get done.
Winner takes all. All what? You'll find out.
Days like this are my bread and butter. For a man who lives on what could be described as five square miles of inner-city London (circa 1850s) transplanted onto a chunk of rock floating in the upper troposphere, 'normality' has long since politely been asked to leave the room. The sun shines weakly, scattering through the clouds below us, which you can see if you (unwisely) lean over the handrails that prevent you from falling off. I'm not looking at them. I am a man on a mission, you see. Well-trained and well equipped. In my hand, a trusty revolver – a Mosin 1895, seven rounds of pure concentrated death, the Russian army style – and in my other hand, a pocketwatch, exquisitely decorated in gold and silver, and hence obviously stolen. Time check: eighty-one minutes past the hour. We're running on metric time.
I cock the hammer, and walk forward into the morning sun.
Those werewolves won't know what hit them.
Three Weeks Earlier
“General Willis, Major Barnes is here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Click.
“General Willis. Major Wallis Barnes, British Army, Bromeliad Warfare Division.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That's a relief. If you had, I'd have needed to kill you.”
“You mind giving me a brief rundown?”
“The BWD was founded in 1941 as an outgrowth of SOE, to reconnoitre and devise countermeasures to the Nazi's own Ananasgruppen, a department of the SS based around the use of pineapples as chemical warfare agents. They were used heavily by Rommel throughout much of the North African theatre. After the war, BWD was folded into the newly-formed MI 6 in order to counter the threat of ARU – Ananas Razvitiya Upravleniya – the Soviet pineapple weaponization effort. These days, we mainly cooperate with the Russian MVD in securing their Cold War pineapple stockpiles from terrorists.”
“What's your point?”
“We believe that no less than five AW-10 'ALFRED' devices – each one equivalent to fifty thousand regular pineapples – have been stolen by terrorists.”
“Can't you handle this yourself?”
“We believe the terrorists to be werewolves.”
“Ah.”
“Operating out of High London.”
“Oh.”
“Given the current position of High London, and the associated political problems with infiltrating the sovereign airspace of the People's Republic of Greater Iceland, Her Majesty's Government requests American assistance.”
“What exactly do you need?”
“A team of operators to infiltrate High London and eliminate the werewolves. Under diplomatic cover.”
“I see. Because of the PRGI's pro-werewolf policies, right?”
“Correct. The recent election has given the Lycanthro-Conservative Party a majority in both the Senate and the Praesidium. Operators caught without diplomatic cover will be disemboweled. Survivors will be re-emboweled and given cake. As per Section 806.91 of the PRGI Civil Code.”
“Cake, eh...well, there's only one operator I can recommend for such a dangerous task.”
“Who?”
“His name is...St. Claire.”
“...”
“Dominic St. Claire.”
“...”
“Dominic Wolfram Phosphorous St. Claire.”
“...”
“Junior.”
“Sounds like our man.”
“I should warn you, he's a complete fuckwit. And half-ghost.” The general gave a snort, indicating his casual racist sentiment for the so-called 'phants' who now made up fully a tenth of the US population. “But he gets results, dammit.”
“Excellent. How soon can he be in High London?”
“How about yesterday?”
“Is that their yesterday or ours?”
“Hold on, let me consult the Speed-Of-Light forecast...yes. This market crash is screwing with all our comms.”
“It's the same on our end. Even since the Godel-Lorentz Relativistic Average dipped below 11 K.P.S., we've had no end of trouble resynching the Galileo network to EU standards.”
“Alright. The GLRA closed at 10.41 km/s – I'm reading off the 4-point Moving Average here – over Greater Iceland. That puts the current time in High London at...forty-four percent of local. So, yes, their yesterday, not ours. From our perspective, it shall be next week before he receives his orders.”
“Well, as long as the werewolves don't catch on, everything should be fine. Now, bring me some brandy.”
The Challenge: 700 Words. Time Trial. No limits.
...No items. Fox Only. Final Destination.
Basically, write exactly 700 words as fast as possible, with a mind to making it as completely and utterly bat-shit crazy as possible as well. No revision. This is a pure speed thing. It's based off an exercise I used to do at my old school for writer's block. The idea is that the faster you write, the less time you have for self-deprecation and hence the more you'll get done.
Winner takes all. All what? You'll find out.
I cock the hammer, and walk forward into the morning sun.
Those werewolves won't know what hit them.
Three Weeks Earlier
“General Willis, Major Barnes is here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Click.
“General Willis. Major Wallis Barnes, British Army, Bromeliad Warfare Division.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That's a relief. If you had, I'd have needed to kill you.”
“You mind giving me a brief rundown?”
“The BWD was founded in 1941 as an outgrowth of SOE, to reconnoitre and devise countermeasures to the Nazi's own Ananasgruppen, a department of the SS based around the use of pineapples as chemical warfare agents. They were used heavily by Rommel throughout much of the North African theatre. After the war, BWD was folded into the newly-formed MI 6 in order to counter the threat of ARU – Ananas Razvitiya Upravleniya – the Soviet pineapple weaponization effort. These days, we mainly cooperate with the Russian MVD in securing their Cold War pineapple stockpiles from terrorists.”
“What's your point?”
“We believe that no less than five AW-10 'ALFRED' devices – each one equivalent to fifty thousand regular pineapples – have been stolen by terrorists.”
“Can't you handle this yourself?”
“We believe the terrorists to be werewolves.”
“Ah.”
“Operating out of High London.”
“Oh.”
“Given the current position of High London, and the associated political problems with infiltrating the sovereign airspace of the People's Republic of Greater Iceland, Her Majesty's Government requests American assistance.”
“What exactly do you need?”
“A team of operators to infiltrate High London and eliminate the werewolves. Under diplomatic cover.”
“I see. Because of the PRGI's pro-werewolf policies, right?”
“Correct. The recent election has given the Lycanthro-Conservative Party a majority in both the Senate and the Praesidium. Operators caught without diplomatic cover will be disemboweled. Survivors will be re-emboweled and given cake. As per Section 806.91 of the PRGI Civil Code.”
“Cake, eh...well, there's only one operator I can recommend for such a dangerous task.”
“Who?”
“His name is...St. Claire.”
“...”
“Dominic St. Claire.”
“...”
“Dominic Wolfram Phosphorous St. Claire.”
“...”
“Junior.”
“Sounds like our man.”
“I should warn you, he's a complete fuckwit. And half-ghost.” The general gave a snort, indicating his casual racist sentiment for the so-called 'phants' who now made up fully a tenth of the US population. “But he gets results, dammit.”
“Excellent. How soon can he be in High London?”
“How about yesterday?”
“Is that their yesterday or ours?”
“Hold on, let me consult the Speed-Of-Light forecast...yes. This market crash is screwing with all our comms.”
“It's the same on our end. Even since the Godel-Lorentz Relativistic Average dipped below 11 K.P.S., we've had no end of trouble resynching the Galileo network to EU standards.”
“Alright. The GLRA closed at 10.41 km/s – I'm reading off the 4-point Moving Average here – over Greater Iceland. That puts the current time in High London at...forty-four percent of local. So, yes, their yesterday, not ours. From our perspective, it shall be next week before he receives his orders.”
“Well, as long as the werewolves don't catch on, everything should be fine. Now, bring me some brandy.”
Time elapsed: 9m54s
edited 10th Apr '11 6:21:19 AM by RiotousRascal