Scotch here in IHQ. The second half of the prologue follows this communique. It's also worth noting that one of our contacts will be introducing I-Crew to Boise, ID. Follow @hyattch on twitter to track the recruiting process.
Before I sign off, I would also like to say thank you for reading, and thank you for keeping an open mind. If the Cryions had their way, we'd all be listening to Miley Cyrus and acting like The Situation. Also, Chapter One begins at IHQ's next update, until then, enjoy the last half of the prologue! Scotch, out.
END TRANSMISSION
Encrypted transmission follows
Dawes Residence
Akron, Ohio
June 6, 2003
19:45 EST
“Owen, hurry up! You’re going to be late!” Martine Dawes yelled up the stairs. “Your father and I want to get a picture of you before you go!”
“Martine, ease up on the boy. He’s going as fast as he needs to. Plaza’s only ten minutes away, it’s not as if he’s going to Timbuktu. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Owen didn’t go at all” Roger Dawes told his wife.
Owen’s parents were good people, though they frequently annoyed the crap out of him. Roger was the founder of an extremely popular alternative weekly newspaper in the African-American community. Many people regarded him with respect, owing to his charming personality, his square cut jaw and the slight cleft in his chin, and the fact that in his forty-five years of life he never compromised his beliefs, even against stiff opposition. He looked intimidating with his broad shoulders and standing six foot and an inch, but not overly so.
Martine was satisfied with freelance photography when not teaching kindergarten, while her husband stayed at home and looked after the paper. She was a buxom woman, a real June Cleaver in all senses of the term. During the summer while Roger worked, she more or less ran the house, having decided that once she left the Akron police department that all she wanted to do was put her feet up, and every so often enjoy a mint julep or two. Sometimes, because they were so externally personable and genuine, people thought that they were two working schmoes who had moved to North Hill in Akron straight from Normalville Kansas, 1955. In reality, he had moved from the heart of the ghettos of Atlanta, she had moved from Greenwich, Connecticut with the spoon still in her mouth, and both of them were loaded in their own right. Both loved their only son deeply, though they were relatively overprotective, and when he came home yesterday they were both concerned about his emotional state. Though the hurt was an emotional one, one best suited for a mother’s touch, it was Roger’s words that had put Owen’s mind at ease.
As Owen put on his jacket, and made his way to his bedroom door, striding towards the inevitable encounter with his apparent ex-girlfriend, he remembered what his father had told him two years earlier while going through the sophomore year transition.
Son, you’re sixteen now, I think it‘s now time for us to speak like men. This whole deal is just that high school bullshit. When you guys get to college and see that the high school games don’t work, people’ll see just how bad they got owned in high school. And if that doesn’t help, at least there’s the cheap and petty feeling that you know that when they finally figure this out, you’ll be able say “’Bout time y‘all came up.”
That was the first time that his dad had ever revealed that side of his personality, the hidden rogue in him, and it had encouraged Owen to stand up tall and be his own man, regardless of the societal pressure placed upon young men his age. He just had to be damned careful not to show that side to his mother.
“Very nice! That’s very nice!” Mrs. Dawes told her son.
“Mom, it’s just a shirt and khakis.”
“But still, you look good in them!”
“Lord, give me strength.” Owen said under his breath.
“Martie, you keep smothering him like that and he’ll really be late.”
“Okay Owen, be careful and be back by midnight.”
“Midnight? Are you kidding me?”
“I'm inclined to agree, Martie.”
She cocked a brow and looked at her husband like he'd lost his mind.
“And what would you consider reasonable?” she asked the two gentlemen standing around her.
“Two-thirty.” Owen said.
“Try again.” Roger said.
“Two?”
“One.” Martine said.
“One-thirty?”
Roger and Martine looked at each other for a moment.
“Done.” Martine said. “Just be careful.”
“I will, Mom.” Owen said, opening the front door. “Love you guys.” And with a nod of Mr. Dawes’ head, Owen shut the door.
Owen opened his door, turned the car over and turned on his radio. With a frown, he tuned away from 92.3 FM. Ever since they went oldies, then death metal, they hadn’t been the same. He tuned to 96.5, the new home for what used to be Hot 101 and quickly changed away from Jessie Griffin’s newest pop hit. 98.1 was playing Tina Aquila’s song about some sort of bottle he didn’t give a damn about, and listening to Raven 100 would still be sacrilege after the unceremonious firing of their most popular and competent on-air talent.
God...hell with this.
He turned on his CD player. He thought he’d never be glad to be listening to 4 Unabridged’s three year old version of eurotechno. Swinging the car onto North Main Street, he looked back toward his house, head bopping along to the beat, wind flowing smoothly around his head.
I hope to Christ that this party’s gonna be worth it. Owen thought. He cruised along the High Level Bridge, unaware that six miles above him, hurtling rapidly down at twice the speed of sound, ahead of him would be the last object he would see.
He heard and felt the concussion of the sonic boom pass over him.
What the fu-
He was suddenly shoved violently to the side by the force of the heat and pressure caused by the slipstream of the passing object. He looked up to see a smooth, gun metal gray behemoth passing over and just ahead of him. He mercifully blacked out after it had cleared him, so he didn't see the object dropping through the sky only to plow into the bridge a scant fifty feet ahead of him, nor was he aware of the car beginning its descent into the Cuyahoga Valley.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
The HQ Is Back in Business!
For those of you just joining the game, welcome to Instigator's HQ! My name is Owen, callsign Scotch and you're here because you want to tell the truth about the state of pop culture and society, even if it means arrest!
After a brief hiatus, we have received new mission orders from Goliath: Release The Instigator's Manifesto, the story of how IHQ was created, on the web! So I will be posting all 133,000+ words on here in sections, beginning with the prologue below. Enjoy, and remember, this is a work of fiction, partially based in reality.
PROLOGUE
Wallace High School
Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio
June 6, 2003
1430 EST
Owen Dawes’ stride was long and deliberate as he walked into the parking lot. He yanked
his car door open and sank in a huff into the driver’s seat. He shut the door of his blue Ford
Taurus and put on his seat belt. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He cleared his brown eyes of debris, ran his hand over his short black hair, taking care to notice the feeling of short bristle in the wake of a fresh haircut, and ran his thumb and forefinger around his goatee to make sure there was nothing in it. His facial composure more or less regained, he now adjusted the mirror so he could see through the window behind him and placed the key in the ignition.
“Owen, wait!” a voice from behind him called in a pleading tone.
A good fifty feet away, Mariel Scott ran towards the car, dirty blonde hair flowing behind
her.
Jesus Christ. Now what the hell else do I have to deal with?
Mariel sat next to him in English class during their junior year at Wallace High. Like
every other guy in the school, he'd had a major crush on her. To be totally fair, it was more of an
infatuation, as she had the body of a Barbie doll, without necessarily having the mental attributes of one. He hadn’t said anything about it to her because there wasnabsolutely no realistic chance in holy hell that the homecoming queen, head cheerleader and all around most popular person in the school would be bothered to even approach the most average looking person in the class.
He wasn’t an athlete by any means, sticking mainly with tech crew and other liberal arts
extracurriculars. He didn’t have a flashy car, wore glasses and certainly was not ripped and cut
like most of the other senior guys. Her friends spent their time at concerts, shopping and
partying. His spent their free time reading, writing, and getting together at Susan’s Coffee and
Tea. Naturally, he had asked himself just what lucky star he'd been born under when she walked up to him in the middle of the Commons and asked him out the last day before Christmas vacation. He'd asked her if someone had put her up to it. Her response was pulling him around the corner and Frenching him. His response was getting ridiculously wasted with his friends in anticipation of the Rapture, which would be pretty pleasant as watching the original Peanuts ice skating in on their little frozen pond in Hell to Vince Guaraldi's theme music was getting boring.
“Can we at least talk about it?” Mariel asked.
Owen pressed the switch that activated the power windows
“Look Owen, it’s not you. It’s me.” Mariel started, leaning through the passenger side
window.
At least have the balls to not start with that old chestnut.
“I just feel like we drifted apart recently.”
“Right, I mean the play started up and I was hanging out more with the tech crew and you
were hanging with the other seven-eighths of the school. It was bound to happen eventually, high school social structures and all.”
“Look, Mitch was around a lot and-“
“And you were still in shock from falling into Mitch's lap that your mouth was still open, yeah, okay.”
“That’s not fair.” Mariel whimpered, a tear forming in the corner of her eye.
“No it’s not. What’s fair is at least telling me where I stood. It doesn’t matter anymore,
really. Look, I’ve got to get home.”
“Will you at least come to Jordan’s party tomorrow? He booked out the Plaza.”
“Jordan‘s throwing a party in a hotel? Well I‘ll be sure to show up to that.” Owen said in
a sarcastic tone.
“Really? You’ll come?”
At that precise moment a mousy looking kid opened the front passenger door and
climbed into the front seat, seemingly oblivious to the teen drama unfolding.
“Ready to rock?” Shawn Greene asked.
“Excellent timing, my friend.” Owen replied. Turning back to Mariel he said, “We’ll
see.” and started the car. He put the car in reverse then said, “but don’t hold your breath”
Owen released the brake, Mariel took a step back and just like that, Owen was speeding
down Wyaga Pond Drive, and out of her life. The worst thing about it was that she knew he was
right.
“You deserve better.” Shawn said. Shawn was an average looking white kid. His brown
hair, overly polite mannerisms and mature mindset made him seem at least five years senior to
his seventeen year old self.
‘I know, right? Who the hell dumps a guy for no other reason than to maintain social
status and then tries to rationalize it?”
“Bleach blondes.”
“Power daters.”
“Don’t forget sorostitutes-in-training” Shawn added.
“Of course!”
Owen turned his mp3 player on, filling the car with the sounds of Stacy Mallory and
Gerideau.
''God, I could seriously use a mocha and a biscotti.”
“So, where am I dropping you today?”
“At home. My mom wants me to sign for some package she's getting today.”
“Not another one of those liberal anarchy survivalist deals.”
“Nah, nah, nothing that bad. I think it's Aunt Rose's yearly summer cookbook.”
“Oh jeez. When's she gonna learn that no one in your family are vegans.”
"We'll give her until Thanksgiving. One more tofurky and someone's gonna have to say
something.”
All of a sudden, Owen slammed his hand against the steering wheel and yelled “Damn
it!”
“Don't worry man,” Shawn said, commiserating with his friend “You'll get over her soon
enough.”
“You know me, I'm already done. I told her upfront, take me for me, and not as some
social whatever, and we're kosher. She screwed me, I'll learn for next time. What I'm pissed
about is how this kind of crap's the norm.”
“What do you mean”
"When, in all of your years of school, has who's dating or sleeping with who been crucial
information?”
“Other than high school?'
“Including high school”
“Never”
“There you go.”
“Yeah man. It's bollocksed up.”
“Ain't that the truth.”
END TRANSMISSION
auth code EAVB_FUKWEFTMAH
After a brief hiatus, we have received new mission orders from Goliath: Release The Instigator's Manifesto, the story of how IHQ was created, on the web! So I will be posting all 133,000+ words on here in sections, beginning with the prologue below. Enjoy, and remember, this is a work of fiction, partially based in reality.
PROLOGUE
Wallace High School
Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio
June 6, 2003
1430 EST
Owen Dawes’ stride was long and deliberate as he walked into the parking lot. He yanked
his car door open and sank in a huff into the driver’s seat. He shut the door of his blue Ford
Taurus and put on his seat belt. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He cleared his brown eyes of debris, ran his hand over his short black hair, taking care to notice the feeling of short bristle in the wake of a fresh haircut, and ran his thumb and forefinger around his goatee to make sure there was nothing in it. His facial composure more or less regained, he now adjusted the mirror so he could see through the window behind him and placed the key in the ignition.
“Owen, wait!” a voice from behind him called in a pleading tone.
A good fifty feet away, Mariel Scott ran towards the car, dirty blonde hair flowing behind
her.
Jesus Christ. Now what the hell else do I have to deal with?
Mariel sat next to him in English class during their junior year at Wallace High. Like
every other guy in the school, he'd had a major crush on her. To be totally fair, it was more of an
infatuation, as she had the body of a Barbie doll, without necessarily having the mental attributes of one. He hadn’t said anything about it to her because there wasnabsolutely no realistic chance in holy hell that the homecoming queen, head cheerleader and all around most popular person in the school would be bothered to even approach the most average looking person in the class.
He wasn’t an athlete by any means, sticking mainly with tech crew and other liberal arts
extracurriculars. He didn’t have a flashy car, wore glasses and certainly was not ripped and cut
like most of the other senior guys. Her friends spent their time at concerts, shopping and
partying. His spent their free time reading, writing, and getting together at Susan’s Coffee and
Tea. Naturally, he had asked himself just what lucky star he'd been born under when she walked up to him in the middle of the Commons and asked him out the last day before Christmas vacation. He'd asked her if someone had put her up to it. Her response was pulling him around the corner and Frenching him. His response was getting ridiculously wasted with his friends in anticipation of the Rapture, which would be pretty pleasant as watching the original Peanuts ice skating in on their little frozen pond in Hell to Vince Guaraldi's theme music was getting boring.
“Can we at least talk about it?” Mariel asked.
Owen pressed the switch that activated the power windows
“Look Owen, it’s not you. It’s me.” Mariel started, leaning through the passenger side
window.
At least have the balls to not start with that old chestnut.
“I just feel like we drifted apart recently.”
“Right, I mean the play started up and I was hanging out more with the tech crew and you
were hanging with the other seven-eighths of the school. It was bound to happen eventually, high school social structures and all.”
“Look, Mitch was around a lot and-“
“And you were still in shock from falling into Mitch's lap that your mouth was still open, yeah, okay.”
“That’s not fair.” Mariel whimpered, a tear forming in the corner of her eye.
“No it’s not. What’s fair is at least telling me where I stood. It doesn’t matter anymore,
really. Look, I’ve got to get home.”
“Will you at least come to Jordan’s party tomorrow? He booked out the Plaza.”
“Jordan‘s throwing a party in a hotel? Well I‘ll be sure to show up to that.” Owen said in
a sarcastic tone.
“Really? You’ll come?”
At that precise moment a mousy looking kid opened the front passenger door and
climbed into the front seat, seemingly oblivious to the teen drama unfolding.
“Ready to rock?” Shawn Greene asked.
“Excellent timing, my friend.” Owen replied. Turning back to Mariel he said, “We’ll
see.” and started the car. He put the car in reverse then said, “but don’t hold your breath”
Owen released the brake, Mariel took a step back and just like that, Owen was speeding
down Wyaga Pond Drive, and out of her life. The worst thing about it was that she knew he was
right.
“You deserve better.” Shawn said. Shawn was an average looking white kid. His brown
hair, overly polite mannerisms and mature mindset made him seem at least five years senior to
his seventeen year old self.
‘I know, right? Who the hell dumps a guy for no other reason than to maintain social
status and then tries to rationalize it?”
“Bleach blondes.”
“Power daters.”
“Don’t forget sorostitutes-in-training” Shawn added.
“Of course!”
Owen turned his mp3 player on, filling the car with the sounds of Stacy Mallory and
Gerideau.
''God, I could seriously use a mocha and a biscotti.”
“So, where am I dropping you today?”
“At home. My mom wants me to sign for some package she's getting today.”
“Not another one of those liberal anarchy survivalist deals.”
“Nah, nah, nothing that bad. I think it's Aunt Rose's yearly summer cookbook.”
“Oh jeez. When's she gonna learn that no one in your family are vegans.”
"We'll give her until Thanksgiving. One more tofurky and someone's gonna have to say
something.”
All of a sudden, Owen slammed his hand against the steering wheel and yelled “Damn
it!”
“Don't worry man,” Shawn said, commiserating with his friend “You'll get over her soon
enough.”
“You know me, I'm already done. I told her upfront, take me for me, and not as some
social whatever, and we're kosher. She screwed me, I'll learn for next time. What I'm pissed
about is how this kind of crap's the norm.”
“What do you mean”
"When, in all of your years of school, has who's dating or sleeping with who been crucial
information?”
“Other than high school?'
“Including high school”
“Never”
“There you go.”
“Yeah man. It's bollocksed up.”
“Ain't that the truth.”
END TRANSMISSION
auth code EAVB_FUKWEFTMAH