inkgirl

Even though it may not seem like it at first, this is a sci fi/fantasy story. The ending is as much of a mystery to me as it is to everyone else, so there will probably be lots of edits as I go along. This is the first story I've ever posted, so please critique mercilessly . I'll post chapter one as soon as I finish editing it.

Prologue
The public wasn’t allowed to know the progress of the war, but anyone who made contact with General John Dryman knew that it wasn’t going well.
Once, there had never been a livelier man. Dryman had been active and even enthusiastic at one point in time, which was how he achieved the position of General.
These days, though, he was rather thin. His thinness was not the kind that was achieved through weight loss programs, but the kind that occurred when a person was too worried or too busy to eat more then one meal a day, and sometimes not even that. He didn’t appear to get much sleep, either, for his eyes were rather baggy, and there were always purple rings around his eyes. If caught at a really bad time, his eyes would be bloodshot, as if he had been drinking way too much the previous night. This was, in fact, the case.
Once upon a time, Dryman would never have gone past his limit (except for those parties he commonly attended when he was merely 21 and could still get away with it), but these days, it was shocking to see him sober. It was as if alcohol was a fuel; it was the only thing that could coax him out of bed in the morning and pull him into the command room.
One morning of particular importance, Dryman woke up with a hangover, as was usual. He grumbled and groaned, and yet somehow, duty was more important than the raging headache, and he managed to pull himself out of bed. Limping into his personal kitchen (one of his legs had received a bullet wound in earlier days, and despite great technology, it had never quite healed right), Dryman pulled open the fridge and found a bottle of whisky. He drank heavily until his headache seemed less pressing and leaned against the wall so that his forehead was pressed to the cool concrete.
Dryman hated his job. He didn’t use to, but now, he would give anything to be anyone else in the world. A farmer. A milkman. An accountant. For some reason, those were the only professions that popped into his head, but they sounded a whole hell of a lot better than his job. All Dryman did was watch the world fall apart, and it was all his god dammed fault that it was cracking.
Sighing heavily, Dryman limped out of the kitchen and down several halls to the command room. It was an office type structure where he supposedly spent his time preparing for future battles and where he could call meetings at any moment to brainstorm about problems. These days, command room was merely a fancy word for ‘second bedroom’.
Today though, there was a message flashing on the wall. Great. Someone wanted to talk to him today. Glancing down at the half-empty whisky bottle, Dryman shoved it under his desk and punched the receiver button so that they would know that he was in his office and ready to take them. It was like a giant pager that was stuck to his office wall.
To Dryman’s surprise, the call was answered almost immediately. Someone really wanted to talk to him. Either this was very good, or very bad. Knowing his luck, it was going to be bad in the extreme.
“General Dryman,” Lieutenant Marks panted, as if he had run all the way to Dryman’s office. “We—we found something.” He paused to catch his breath (or maybe just to irritate Dryman).
“Talk,” Dryman ordered impatiently. He had better things to do today.
“We found one of them—dead,” Marks explained in a rushed, excited voice. Dryman sat up straight, his eyes suddenly more alert than they had been in weeks. He was surprised; this actually was good news.
“By our men?” he asked hopefully.
“We don’t think so. We think that it committed suicide. We’re waiting for a dissection pass.”
“Fine, you have one. If anyone questions you, tell them that I issued it. Let me know when you get the results.”
Marks nodded and left the room quickly, as excited as Dryman. The war might actually take a turn for the better. In fact, this news might change everything.

Two hours later, Marks returned to the command room.
“What’s the news?” Dryman demanded, hiding a hint of eagerness that was creeping up in his voice.
“The results were inconclusive,” Marks replied, his voice rigid with tension.
“How the hell could they be inconclusive?”
Marks hesitated. “Riley said that the anatomy was different, especially in the brain, but he couldn’t tell what it meant. He even got a second opinion.”
“So the body’s useless?” Dryman growled in frustration, grabbing a bottle of beer from under his desk. At the moment, he didn’t care what Marks or anyone thought.
“Not quite. Riley said that the body was different, but not so different. He says he has an idea.”
Dryman sank into his chair. They were as good as slaughtered in this war, and yet they wouldn’t stop trying to fight it. Well, trying never hurt. You may still lose, but when you went down fighting, your chances of winning were greater than if you were to just lie down and die.
“Okay then, let’s hear it.”

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Cefor

Ok, great hook. Now I want more...

It sounds really interesting, its my kinda thing and is well written. Great job!

Keep up the excellent work!!

Cefor, eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

EDIT:
Wait, I just noticed that your profile says Female.
Now don't take this the wrong way but I thought you were a guy... just cos of the genre, a bit silly of me really. You don't write like a girl in my honest opinion lol but its great writing so I don't give a monkeys privates who writes it

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Knowledge is Power