....Hi! It's been a while since I've written much for Fan Corner. This is the first chapter to something I got hooked on . Hey, this is what happens when you have way too much free time.
Basically, this is a story about a Glukkon. The story is inspired from the musical, The Scarlet Pimpernel. I'll take it from there.
So yeah, glad to accept feedback, ways to improve my writing, blah blah blah. And now presenting, Citizen Cayn.
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Chapter 1
My forearms were growing weary from standing on the metal contents of a Fee Co Train for such a long time. My cigar had lost its flavor some time ago as well. My tiny amount of room I occupied did not allow me to breath, have a fresh cigar lit, or simply contemplate my surroundings (if any of my kind actually did that sort of thing these days). I could not even adjust my position to escape the glare of sunlight beaming in on my face, covering my vision with little purple blots. I had no idea that so many little blind spots of traveling could amount to being so vexing. This trip across the barren desert was not shaping up to how horrible I imagined it, it was worse.
My personal Slig companion who my sources had so “generously” bestowed upon me so that I may have protection and assistance during my journey across the long and open land had not made a peep since we departed from Fee Co Depot North. He had been keeping himself occupied in the cockpit of the train. His quietness gave me a hunch; I was hoping it was wrong.
I shuffled myself in a rotation once more to try and avoid the sun; I halted when I noticed that there was no more glare. Finally the sun was going down. I peered out the window to take a look at my exteriors. There was nothing special, not much at all really. There was the same polluted desert and above forever lingered a pink sky. Already a few stars were visible.
I pondered to myself of what the condition of Zulan must be like miles away. He should have arrived at his destination by then, as the mountains were practically a hop away from Fee Co North. My destination only brought me further north to the limits of Fee Co North’s rails. Beyond that was Her Majesty. I dare not venture that far north into Mudos. No Glukkon of my status would dare to.
An hour passed, so I had guessed. And still no peep from my little green companion. Nebulas and constellations were clear to the eye by now. And off in the distance on the horizon I saw the moon, baring the hand print of the tattooed menace. Ever since the incident at the Soul Storm Brewery; televisions, phone lines, and, of course, the general public had gone hectic. Everyday morning there was a new blanket of WANTED posters smeared across the walls along the path leading to the Executive Offices. The news monitors carried the same blather about some executive being blown up or a factory being shut down. Even the Greeters chanted anti-Abe slogans.
What occurred to me after sometime during this reign of terror was that no one from the northern territories or Nolybab had actually seen this Abe fellow. Only our media did, and every last bit of it opposed him. After personally witnessing the destruction of Soul Storm Brewery while organizing the relocation of all remaining company assets, I began to realize the gravity of the situation. Whoever this terrorist was, he needed to be eliminated, for the good of society.
My cylindrical passenger room was growing cold with the night desert air. I still couldn’t fathom how stupid the directorate of Fee Co Depot was to think that this was “luxury travel,” to think that an agent of the Magog Cartel could be so dumb. I decided that I was exiting this can. Deciding was easy enough, I needed to get the attention of my Slig.
I yelled out for assistance, but no reply. I attempted it again, but this Slig was either idiotically bold or napping.
At this point I was trying to tackle the slide door open just to get a breath of some not-so-horribly-fresh air. My suit was becoming wrinkled and my shoes were getting scuffed. I would make sure this Slig be made fit to meet his maker. Again three times, now little pebbles of sweat began to appear on my cranium. A skinny pillar of light appeared, it grew bigger, and eleven pushes and tackles later, I stepped out into the cockpit.
My cigar dropped from my mouth, a strange feeling of fluidic cold ran across my face as I took a whiff of rotting Slig. His shriveled body had a stream of blood running across the floor. The stench was awful. Hundreds of questions flickered through my mind, all of them a mixture of his attacker and the fate of myself.
Then there was a new object in my vision, another green figure but taller. It was hard to tell, my eyes had blurred up. The Mudokon, I realized, was pointing a dagger towards me.
Citizen Cayn
