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David D Bryce
May 5th, 2014, 09:47 PM
Notes: Not 100% proof read
This chapter is not designed to establish character or motives.


Some where in the mid 21st Century


The king was dead, and England was burning. It was burning long before the fires even started. The underclass risen out of destitution turning against their would be leaders. Old London cooling under the waves of the Thames that had devoured her like a biblical serpent into a belly of murky waters. England had changed, the world had changed.


Chapter 1
All War is Business, All Business is War




Fifty Years Later


On a starlit night by the banks of the Thames, gesturing a hand full of sand towards a forlorn shore, Akua Contee shared his dream with Chief Officer Smith, “This is the future” he said nodding in approval at the receding waters.


That night Amadi Contee lay close to death in the same lavish comforts he was born into.
His only son had suddenly left the room, closing the door as his father wept and groaned “don't go...don't go”. Perplexed Smith had followed him into the hallway. Akua standing by the balcony was admiring his grandfathers portrait still adorning the wall above the mansions door.


“I have my first order for you”
he said as Smith approached. Bracing himself to be asked to commit an act of mercy, Smith only became more confounded by what he said next.
“I want you to take me to the Thames...tonight”
Thinking first of obligations to his soon to be masters safety, rather than the strangeness of this request, imploringly Smith had asked for reconsideration.
“Sir with all due respect, understand Civil Consumer Affairs will not hesitate to shoot anyone on site who transgresses into the south east let alone to the Thames.”
Akua swung round to face him. Perhaps on any other night the mention of the CCA would evoke a less than calculated response, instead he bristled with confidence.
“Smith,Smith” he said patting him on the shoulder “Tonight the Akua Contee you have known for twenty two years is as dead as my father will be in the morning, tomorrow I will be the man I have waited forty seven years to become”.


Intrigued Smith stepped aside, letting Akua take the lead to the chief officers car. Beneath a stately appearance, it's engine would ensure safe passage on the journey ahead. His passenger aboard Smith finished his preliminary checks “The Thames it is sir”.


The fusion engine ignited, thrusters levitating the car as it's wheels retracted. Hovering above New London, resting on Birmingham’s grave, built to the Midlands edge in the east, jostling with Wales to the west. The city soon shrank to a glow on take off, as they crossed the desolated wastes of the South East, to the outskirts of Old London thirty minutes away. Smith exited first, checking for CCA patrols. The river's light, his only guide through darkness eager to deceive him. He made it to the water where possible confrontation evaporated. Alone with rusted trolleys floating on the current, and the shadow of a lost city in the distance.
“Impossible”his jaw gaped as a euphoric Akua joined him.
“Aha do you see it Smith? Look how beautiful she is”.
Old London no longer submerged under the murky Thames.


“The future?”
Smith said, his initial shock waning to a blank gaze
“I see a past we can't return to”
Akua still griped by euphoria put his arm around him
“ You see the past, while I see skyscrapers, coffee shops, shopping centres, real progress here once again,”
He let the sand run through his fingers that, by the full moon vanishing in a glisten, caught a twinkle in his eyes of ambition Smith had never seen from him .
“..Credit...I see credit”.




2092
The Present Day




Old London had surfaced, rocking the very foundations of New Londons corporate senate. Akua, on the crest of his revelation, tarnished the CCA, gaining him powerful allies for his dream of a London reunified.A dream, two years later, that had soured in the realities of protracted negotiations with the CCA. In a final frantic comprise they had agreed only half the districts of the South East would go to England’s now most humbled of CEO's. Contee Security’s quest for Old London's urban redevelopment, came to an unsatisfactory end. Akua embittered for all his tireless efforts, considered it a pyrrhic victory at best.


The inaugural handover set at a district just across the South East border. Akua summoned his highest ranking officer the right honourable Chief Officer Smith, and his less honourable partner Senior Officer Jones, to represent him. Predictably unsober that morning, Jones, upon leaving the officer's quarters, found his partners car not outside. All calls unanswered, irate without the luxury of flight. He was forced to drive well over the speed limit,flouting every drink driving law to arrive on time. At the checkpoint, ten minutes to spare, and Smith nowhere in sight, Jones evaluated his appearance in the rear view mirror while he waited.The harsh reflection took no pity on a bulbous face, laboriously needing coats of black stubble shaved. Certainly he had no excuses for a sweat stained shirt that hadn't seen the washing machine in weeks. Straightening his tie seemed feasible, but overall any efforts to salvage an upstanding officer where hopeless. He opened the window, retching spit. A boy he scarcely knew flickered into view, faded to Jones, officer and nothing more, clasping his face.


Lucidity returning, he glimpsed concrete and barb wire, forming to a wall fifty feet high. This crudest of lines drawn to a rigorous template,entrusted by a then fledging corporate state to the CCA, varied in size according to the town or city it served to contain. Cardiff's wall was as mundane a feature on his childhood landscape as his father playing rugby with him on the roof. Walls are hollow, memories are precious. A distinction learned when stripped of your forename,and moulded to a man of obedient function.


A guard making his way out the adjacent gate house, Jones slumped back inside. Rummaging the liquor filled glove box for his badge, he felt the microchip embedded in his hand pulsing. It's signal sent to the computer screen, mounted on the dashboard.


New message from Chief Officer Smith:
Hi Jones just a quick text to give you the heads up, our communications were temporarily distributed when Contee declared war on the CCA earlier this morning, I will have a contact meet you at 6am, oh and don't worry Maria will feed your cat before she goes to work


“Shit.”
Bloodshot eyes widening, he panicked himself into a sweat. The guard almost leaning in, scrambling a clammy palm to the screen.
The window closed in his adversary face “Hey hey!”.
“Just a minute getting my badge, won't be long.”
Empty bottles rolling to the floor, as he searched for the gun on the other side of the glove box. “Come on mate CCA, Contee Security we are all friends here, don't need to make this all official like.”
An obvious bluff, even drunk he wasn't buying it. Finding the gun, the gun not finding him. Stuck in a glitch of looping recognition, he slurred a bluff back,
“Yeah...you see it kind of erm, you know, looks a bit better on the reports erm..you know,... for like erm headquarters....yeah.”
He could hardly when sober in mortal danger be convincing,
“Hey come on mate, don't have all day”
the guard slowly reached for his pistol.


Recognition complete, lunging forth out the glove box, his foot haplessly caught under the brake pedal.
The guard drew sternly stating his terms “Step out the vehicle and surrender or we will shoot you!”.
Jones froze his stumpy arm, eyes nervously darting side to side. On the wall manning machine guns, they flexed itchy trigger fingers.Focusing on his foe behind a tinted visor, his brow furrowed to a glower. Jones slammed a fist to the screen, ducking a bullet to the head as his shot pierced the guards throat. Applying pressure to his newly discovered wound, Jones sluggishly elbowed him away, as the machine guns began roaring to a cry of open fire. Protected by the car's armoured plating, with his deliverance not far away, he freed his trapped foot and sat back, rubbing his throbbing temples,"Computer." The light on the dashboard bleeped. "Call chief officer Smith".


Several miles away, Smith having staked out a favourable vantage point, lay prone on the roof of a tower block ,eyes firmly pressed against binoculars. The lens notified him of the incoming call.


“Incoming Call From Sheep Shagger.
“Ahh good morning Jones, I trust you arrived safely?”
Sarcasm evident as ever, and Jones none to pleased thus far
“Well my brash bald headed friend I had to drive here which pissed me off!”
He paused as shouting brought on a bout of hiccups,
“Excuse me, yeah I got flashed by six speed cameras on my way here, so you will be damned if I'm paying the fines!”
Another hiccup passed his blubbery lips
“And where was I ...oh yeah, then you text me to say we're at war just as some guard was about to blow my head off!”
A grin on his face, finding a degree of humour in his partners alcoholism after all these years. Smith chuckled under his breath.
“Jones it's not war it's business, don't take it so personally.”
Hiccups ceasing, he scratched his fuzzy chin,
“Hmm I thought all war is business.”
His brief ponder slightly impressed Smith,
“Jones I never knew you were a semantic.”
Stomach rumbling, headquarters cafeteria not open till ten, a matter taken to heart on another drunken morning when Jones stormed the kitchen in his own one man war for a bacon roll, holding a gun to the chefs head. Eventually ending when Smith reminded him they don't serve bacon on Thursdays.


“Semantic you say? Sounds like a tasty new kind of sandwich to me. Tell you what, get in that flying car thing of yours get me one of those errr....semantic sandwiches and a coffee for yourself of course, then come back and rescue me hmm?”
The subject of food bound to end badly, Smith changed topic,
“So what's the situation like down there?”
He sat up, assessing the chaos.
“Well the CCA are firing all the lead they got on that wall, not doing a very good job I must say”. Smith clenching his tongue between his teeth rested the binoculars beside him
“Hold tight Jones my contact will be there momentarily.”
Pressing leather gloved hands against the tarmac he pushed himself to his feet, brushing the dirt off his black satin suit.
“Oh and try and sober up before you get here.” Six am on the dot, the guns stopped chattering and so did Jones
“Yeah I will take that under the greatest of consideration like I always do, see you soon. Computer end call”


Holstering his faulty pistol, he watched the agile figure on the wall clearing the opposition above him. A reflective yellow body vest, wrapped around a black boiler suit, wearing white boots. The emblem of mother laissez-faire atop a black helmet. His saviour disguised in the unmistakable livery of CCA, fastened the assault rifle to his back,and swung a rope to the ground. Jogging to the car, he lifted the visor revealing a young blue eyed, blonde 4ft 10 in height. Jones unlocked the door, on wobbly legs, his rescuer heaved him out the bullet ridden vehicle. “Thanks Travis, I owe you a pint.”Unfastening the rifle, he retorted while reloading “Jones the amount of pints you owe me, I'd be a bigger alcoholic than you are mate, now get your stuff from the boot were leaving.” He gradually stepped to the rear.“Shit get down!” Travis grabbed his collar,and pulled him into cover. Trapped behind the car, reinforcements took position along the wall.


“What the fuck are you doing shoot the bastards!”
Jones yelled, cowering as the machine guns roared back to life.
“Putting some music on old man, relax.”
He clicked his microchip and scrolled the tracks on his play list.
“Now let's see hmm... footloose perfect.”
Solelyfending them off to Kenny Loggins vocals, Travis body count swelled,as Jones held his head in fright.
“Oh fuck, Oh fuck!” “Come on mate it's just business”
he said unfazed, as more CCA grunts dared to fill the void of there fallen brethren.
“Fucksake! Wish everyone would stop telling me that.”
Panting with his pistol at the ready, Jones entered the fray
“Redlight of death? Piece of shit!”
tossing away his useless pistol, he slid back despairingly, as Travis tried to console him with insight.
“That's planned obsolescence you know”
but it just confused him
“Planned obelisk what?”
The steel gate having similar issues, creaking and whirring, refused to open. Issues they where intent to resolve with volleys of shells.
“We got problems now mate”
Jones peered up at the smouldering holes in the gate. Taking his tablet out the vest pouch, Travis called the Chief.


“Chief we are pinned with heavy armour breaching the gate, request launch code for immediate missile strike.”
A horrid crackled mix of Kenny Loggins and Travis, whined out Smiths chip
“Say again I can't hear you?”
”Tanks Chief, at the gate! Lining up like it's a taxi rank on Saturday night, request launch code.” Loud and clear Smith gave his ok,
“Affirmative.”
“Zero10MonkeySeeMonkeyDo”
“Copy that chief” he tapped in the code.
Somewhere outside New London, a wind farm transformed into a launch site
“Here mate you do it” winking he handed Jones the tablet.
“Better cover your ears”
Travis advised as his finger met the screen
“Missile Strike Confirmed”.
The sound of impending evisceration, tore its way across a crisp orange sky. In the midst of a hasty retreat, facing annihilation unceremoniously. The CCA forces were struck with impeccable accuracy.Plumes of dust fell to flakes, and it was done.


“Yeah!”
Travis pounced up, victoriously punching the air
“Whoever said green energy isn't worth investing in.”
Guessing that meant all clear, Jones hauled himself up, and took in the devastation.
“I'm seeing an upside to this business”
he said, beaming joyously at a crater where the gate had been.


“No time to admire your handy work mate, get your stuff and let's move out.”
He popped the boot and removed his briefcase
“This way to the gatehouse, move, move”
Travis went ahead and swept the place for any other surprises
“The gatehouse? That's a dead end in there.”
Unsure yet confident, the resourceful little officer had something up his sleeve, he did as instructed. “We will be dead if we take the direct route, now help me move this bed.”
Screeching the bed aside, Travis got his tablet out again
“The districts are not all that they seem.”
Tapping in a password, the hologram dissipated to reveal a metal hatch.
“No pun intended Jones, but down the hatch”.
England’s second corporate war had begun.

David D Bryce
May 5th, 2014, 10:07 PM
Edited the spacing problems.

David D Bryce
May 8th, 2014, 02:58 AM
Adding a bit of the second chapter as i'm still working on most of this. Feedback would be appreciated. Note Akua is now Akin for now. Long story lol



Chapter 2
Rise Of A Corporate Crusader




Two Years Ago-Three Weeks After The Death Of Amadi Contee


“Looks like my fresh start has come to wash away the old order”
Akin said, thoroughly buoyed after wetting the media’s appetite with his spectacular arrival in the chief officers car. Smith however was less enthusiastic. Distracting himself with thoughts of obligations to hisnew master, not getting drenched.
“I shall get the umbrella sir”,
Akin straining to see beyond condensation steaming up the window pane, was yearning to revel amongst a captive audience at last.
“You always have my best interests at heart don't you Smith?” he faced forward to ask.
“Only your interests are in my heart sir,”
Answering immediately with no thought needed, Smith removed a short metallic pole from his gun belt. The hologram umbrella unlike it's fabric predecessor, was wind proof.
Akin fashioning his teeth to the smile of a cunning politician, gripped the driver’s seat.
“Good, loyalty. more than ever. is my most treasured commodity, now let's go make history shall we.”
A final inspection of his carefully chosen suit, and it was show time.


Smith splashed his shoes onto the pavement. A tsunami of lawless paparazzi raced to the bottom, itching for a photo that would encapsulate this historic moment. Dressing-down the drowned paparazzi with his cold brown eyes, he released the exuberant Akin. Performing choreographed waves and smiles, against a backdrop of pouring rain. A reluctant Smiths dimming the limelight with his holobrolly, he hurriedly escorted him up the steps. Hopes his master be unmolested on ascent, dashed by an ambush of inquisitive reporters, who had sought shelter in the senate. Swarming the acceding Akin with a cacophony of questions.


“Is it true Old London is no longer flooded?”
“Mr Contee will you declare war on the CCA?”
“New London Consumer Herald, do you have any comment on the terrorist group calling themselves the Bourgeois Anarchist?”
Barging his master a path to the top, Akin stopped to indulge his burgeoning fame with hisrehearsed statement.
“Ladies and gentlemen”
A phalanx of cameras and microphones, readied to soak up every word he was about to say that dreary day.


“For half a century Contee Security has served the consumers of New London. But for too long the CCA have gone unchallenged in their monopoly, of policing the districts, preventing much needed land being made available to expand our metropolis. While we at Contee Security take no interest in the CCA governing the legal systems and laws, it is however our duty as the leading cooperation of elite urban security to ensure the best value for credit. The facts and figures speak for themselves,last year the CCA cost 30% of tax, double what Contee Security can and will offer as a better modern service, that will also allow lands sorely needed for New London's expansion to be made available. So itis my pleasure to announce, as the new CEO, that the wilderness years of Contee Security are over, and we shall once again stand in direct competition to the CCA”
Smith, took the document from his leather jackets inner pocket, charged with it's protection all week, he handed it to Akin, glad to be rid of the thing
“This here ladies and gentlemen is the Contee Security's manifesto for state policing in the new century, and today I shall commend it to the house”
wisecracking journalist, eager to ask questions, Smith intervened on his masters behalf,
“No questions for Mr Contee”

Hastily ushering him inside, he quietly persuaded a guard to lock the doors, while Akin marvelled at the senates stained-glass dome. Mother laissez-faire,etched in pure white linen. Crouched defending the thirteen gold coins of absolute wealth to her right, with an oval shield to her left. Rain lit by chandeliers, deliberately flowing through a hole,carved at the dome's centre, fell to faceless bronze statues, begging on a silver fountain below.


“Eternally indebted to the goddess of absolute wealth trickling from above”.
Reading the fountains plaque aloud, Akin knelt kissing his grandfathers ring. A ring that after his fathers requiem in the mansions garden, he had tugged unsuccessfully at the corpses finger for. Smith ever the interventionist, commandeering a pair of sheers, dutifully desecrated the deceased patriarch.


“Hail Mother Laissez-faire, reward this humble corporate crusaders faith with eternal absolute wealth”
Craning to the heavens,Akin bathed his head in cascading waters
“A towel Smith”


Harbouring his pessimism towards adoration of laissez-faire, and it's demigoddess mother, an attendant brought Smith a towel. Admittedly her divinity did unify plethoras of plutocratic self interest. Drying his sodden head, the ritual seemingly Akins metaphorical rebirth. A drop spattered virgin to black marble floors and grey granite walls. Indeed he had frequented the senate often with his father. Traversing the spiralling expanse of the main hallways grand staircase. A restless child on exhausted legs in the viewing gallery, hollering naive obscenity’s. Levelled squarely at ageing Henry Ackerman the II, then CCA chairman. Admonishing guards nourished encouragement, to continue lambasting him. The vicarious spectator, impatient to transcend to esteemed politician, threw the towel from his head.Purposefully marching for the house of corporates.
“If Mother laissez-faire has seen fit to bless me with rain then I am a destiny politician and nothing will stop.....”


Akin thudding to the floor, Smith rushed to his aid. He always considered that damn dome a health and safety risk .
“You ok sir? Are you hurt?”
“My pride is.”
The wind knocked out his sails, Smith propped Akin up, setting him on course
”It could have been anyone sir, even a great man such as yourself they should have wet floor signs here.”
A nearby attendant,pretending he was oblivious to the incident, scuttled his way to the janitors closet.
“Let me get my balance back....” the woozy Akin seeing the attendant returning,snatched the wet floor sign. Administering a savage passive aggressive beating
“You fucking little shit.....ruin my destiny....bastard!”
Pitiless for blubbering's of mercy, Akin conversed with his goddess, as his victim crawled sacrificially into the fountain
“What's that? you want blood my mother? Then blood you shall have!”
Smith yanked the signfrom his raised arms. Putting it to the correct usage, he stood at ease for an impending tirade.


“So this is your supposed loyalty Smith!?You expect me to show weakness to neglectful insects who would see me humiliated for their carelessness!? Then you're no chief Smith! Just a shepherd, allegiance to the whims of New London's docile sheep!”
Befuddled by madness,Smith righteous intervenor was now traitor.
“Akin Contee bludgeons corporate senate attendant with a wet floor sign. With only your interests in my heart I don't think that headline is to your interests sir”
The reality’s of public relations sinking in, Akins slippery temper placated.
“Freedom is a precious illusion, the media integral to it's application, convincing the masses lies are truth an art form, but the media turns against you the illusion is lost, and I can't afford to lose, so what would you suggest I do Smith?”
“If a shepherd did rise sir and turn New London's docile sheep to his favour, he could wield quite a commanding influence”
A sinister idea budded in Akin's mind.
“Yes play the media to my advantage, speak to the whims of the sheep, herd them to me inpapers and magazines. Crushing the CCA with my wicked guitar solos inTV interviews”
His massacring of Jimmy Hendrix songs left much to be desired
“Guitar solos aside sir, with the consumer class on your side, the more influence and leverage you will have to exert pressure on the CCA”
Akin fiendishly smiled,relishing the prospect of his competitors grovelling to him
“I like it...I like it a lot”
Sprucing up his crinkled red suit, another cherished heirloom from his grandfather.He strode, rejuvenated, under the grand staircase to the house of corporates.
“You can feast at my expense in the restaurant Smith, for loyalty and devotion to the New Contee Security of the 2090's”


With his master gone,Smith squatted by the fountain. The attendant hunched cradling hislegs at his towering presence.
“Don't hurt me please, it won't happen again please don't hurt me.”
His words whimpered to a waling sob.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen sir.”
Sniffling out his blood clogged nose, Smith picked up the discarded towel, wiping the attendants tears
“It's a cruel world kid.”
Guards gathered,awestruck by his selfless actions, in this most hallowed temple, ofself interest.
“Ensure this boy gets to a hospital, at the expense of the New Contee Security.”


The unsuspecting shepherd, none the wiser, to his Chiefs act of human kindness.Perhaps on a path untravelled, for pastures undiscovered. As Smith weaved ostentatious corridors towards the senates five star restaurant,. Shady lobbyists, funnelling the hallways, unpoliced by vague red tape, between business and state. Corruptions vilified middlemen, had found refreshing reverence, in the land of laissez-faire. Where credit trumped democracies dogmatic politics


Nether breakfast norlaunch, six clean-cut men puffing electronic cigarettes, seated in the far right corner, in an otherwise deserted restaurant. Ackerman’s personal entourage lead by the CCA's Chief legal councillor Baxter Daniels. Passing time with low stakes poker, and high priced vintage wine. Eye balled Smith, they had monikered New London’s Sheriff,striding to the mahogany saloon bar.
“Fancy a game sheriff? We have been waiting all morning to raise the stakes”
Baxter cockily rocking in the chair, provocatively shuffled the deck. Knocking back a shot of espresso, Smith lifted his jackets coattails
“I wager you my life in a duel, do your stakes go that high Baxter?
Two ominously protruding silver revolvers, quelled the lawyers sniggers.
“So you think you’re above our laws Sheriff?
Baxter relaxed the chair, dealing his sycophantic collogues their cards
“Remember we make the rules everyone plays by, and we deal the hand of justice”
This Smith couldn't dispute.
“My apologises gentlemen, it's been a busy morning, and I suspect it might get a lot busier”
“Whatever sheriff,your new bosses Manifesto is going down in flames, take it from alawyer, he can't win a case without any evidence”
One day at a table where odds weren't stacked against him. Smith would then serve his arch nemesis a dish of overdue vengeance.

Recon
May 8th, 2014, 06:27 PM
Well, David, I think your writing has a lot of potential. You have a good sense of humor and a talent for pacing. That said, I think your prose could use some work. You have some serious issues with sentence fragments and overuse of dialogue that are frustrating the continuity of your story. Remember that writing should take longer than speaking a story. The reader will go faster than you write, and if you fail to record enough details and narration to slow them down a little, you will struggle to keep them focused on your story. It's almost too choppy and broken up. Nevertheless, I like your plot and your characters. The dynamics you've set up between them are interesting, and it seems like you have some good material here. Keep writing.

Recon

David D Bryce
May 8th, 2014, 07:57 PM
Well, David, I think your writing has a lot of potential. You have a good sense of humor and a talent for pacing. That said, I think your prose could use some work. You have some serious issues with sentence fragments and overuse of dialogue that are frustrating the continuity of your story. Remember that writing should take longer than speaking a story. The reader will go faster than you write, and if you fail to record enough details and narration to slow them down a little, you will struggle to keep them focused on your story. It's almost too choppy and broken up. Nevertheless, I like your plot and your characters. The dynamics you've set up between them are interesting, and it seems like you have some good material here. Keep writing.

Recon

Where exactly are the sentence fragments occurring?

Recon
May 8th, 2014, 08:14 PM
Where credit trumped democracies dogmatic politics


Nether breakfast norlaunch, six clean-cut men puffing electronic cigarettes, seated in the far right corner, in an otherwise deserted restaurant. Ackerman’s personal entourage lead by the CCA's Chief legal councillor Baxter Daniels. Passing time with low stakes poker, and high priced vintage wine.


This whole block is nothing but sentence fragments. You have a tendency of stringing together clauses in such a way that you have no independent clause, and another tendency to omit either the subject or the verb. Remember, all sentences have a subject and a verb. If you don't understand why the above "sentences" are in fact fragments, I can try to explain further.

EDIT: Also, if you're finding that you struggle with grammar, syntax, and punctuation, I can probably help. If you want to go back and proofread one of the chapters, you can post the revised version and I'll take a pass at it and let you know where I'm seeing errors. As you've said, little things can distract the reader from the text.

Smith
May 9th, 2014, 12:12 AM
I thought it was pretty good. What I was most fond of was the humor, and it came as an unexpected surprise to me. I guess I always go into reading something expecting it to be dead serious. That, and a most interesting setting / plot to boot, it has much potential. Some spelling and grammar errors scattered here or there were a bit distracting at times, but nothing a fair bit of editing and revising couldn't easily fix. Good descriptions, I could generally envision what was going on. Characters are unique and I can see their own personalities.

One thing that deserves mention I think is the formatting. Could just be me, but I found it... interesting. Would prefer to see some basic paragraph structure. I will admit that I did get fairly used to it as things went along. Keep writing, and want to see more of this. :)

David D Bryce
May 9th, 2014, 02:02 AM
I thought it was pretty good. What I was most fond of was the humor, and it came as an unexpected surprise to me. I guess I always go into reading something expecting it to be dead serious. That, and a most interesting setting / plot to boot, it has much potential. Some spelling and grammar errors scattered here or there were a bit distracting at times, but nothing a fair bit of editing and revising couldn't easily fix. Good descriptions, I could generally envision what was going on. Characters are unique and I can see their own personalities.

One thing that deserves mention I think is the formatting. Could just be me, but I found it... interesting. Would prefer to see some basic paragraph structure. I will admit that I did get fairly used to it as things went along. Keep writing, and want to see more of this. :)

See i'm torn between Novel and a Screenplay for a film. But i don't know how to write a Screenplay yet lol. Though it is my dream to have something i wrote turned into a film.

This is the rough bit i typed up for a Screenplay. It's different in a lot of ways from my novel idea because most notably it takes place in Old London as opposed to my fictional city of New London.

PoliceState Manifesto




Int:Contee Moslem-Day
Smithstanding at ease head bowed wearing black sunglasses, the whitecoffin in-front mounted on a stone is draped with the black flag ofMother Laissez-faire. England’s new flag has a border of white oakleafs, with Mother Laissez-faire crouched at the centre wearing awhite toga, holding 13 gold coins of absolute wealth in her lefthand. With an oval shield in her right hand bearing the old saintGeorges Cross.


Laissez-fairepriest gives the death sermon of Mother Laissez-faire.

Priest
Inthe name of our goddess of eternal absolute wealth from above, we layto rest your humble corporate crusader. Guided by your divine wisdomthis dead mortal vessel has given us prosperity that will liveforever.


Crowd Chants
Hail mother laissez-faire


Thepriest walks away revealing on the opposite side of Smith a smirkingAkin Contee holding the hands of his two daughters solemnly bowing inmourning for there dead grandfather. Smiths pulls his shades down tothe end of his nose, Akin winks at him.


Fadeto black


Int:Contee Moslem-Night


Afterthe funeral Akin breaks opens his fathers coffin. He turns roundsharply, worried someone at the reception in the mansions gardenoutside has heard him. Smith shuts the door to be safe standingguard, as Akin pulls out his dead fathers hand. Tugging forcefully athis grandfathers ring on the corpses right hand index finger, but itwon't budge


Akin
Evenin death the bastard won't let me get what I want


Akin giving up, Smith peers outthe door


Smith
Igot a plan sir bear with me


Akin
Makeit quick Smith, I have already spent 47 years to many in the companyof this appeasing scum




Smithwades through the crowd. The atmosphere more of celebration thanmourning. He makes it to the green house and takes the garden sheersoff the shelve, concealing them under his long black leather jacket.Casually he walks back to the Moslem quietly shutting the door behindhim


Akin
Isuppose this is officially my first order for you Smith


Akinholds out his fathers rotting hand. Smith takes the sheers out fromunder his jacket and steps towards the coffin. Holding the sheersaround the fingers base


Smith
Andas your Chief Officer of Contee Security
Myfirst advise is to stand back....i don't want to get bloodon your suit sir


Akin(laughing, amused)
Youreally do have my best interests at heart don't you Smith?




Smith
Onlyyour interests are in my heart sir




Unphasedsmith cleanly cuts his former masters finger. Blood spurts out andthe ring bounces down into a pool of blood on the floor. Akin divesdown and grabs the ring. He looks up and finds his 5 year olddaughter standing at the door.


Daughter
Daddy why you wake grandpaup?




Thefinger trickling blood. Smith flops the hand back inside the coffin.Placing the sheers in the deceased patriarchs hands, he closes thelid


Akin
To say goodnight forever


Daughter
So grandpas not waking upagain?


Akin
Time for bed princess






Akinpicks his daughter up. Holding her in his arms he walks outside asSmith quietly shuts the door behind him.




Akin
Only when we sleep do our dreamscome true




Akininspects his grandfathers ring in the light of the full moon



Pull out to the sound of Vangelistake on Crocketts Theme from Miami Vice.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1CVxpbbucw

Panning the skyline ofLondon 2090 on a hot humid climate changed night. Where palm treesand other tropical vegetation has been imported and thriving. Cut toCannery Wharf to the central bank of the fascist consumer federationof England and Wales. A giant pyramid with an all seeing eye thatcasts by night it's rotating light over London, and seen all the wayto Cardiff. Cut to another panning shot of formerly St Paul’s nowthe head grand temple of Mother Laissez-faire. Banners of MotherLaissez-faire on the towers flutter in the cool breeze.


1.21seconds into the song
Title police State Manifesto