Hey, this is my first post in a while, but I don't think my writing has dulled so I hope it turns out well. Since I have a habit of making long chapters, each of my posts will consist of half chapters. This will hopefully keep people from seeing a huge page of text and running away.... I'll also keep summaries of all chapters on my blog so those who want to review a later chapter can do so without reading the previous ones.
Anyway, I have a few questions I'd like you to answer for me along with your post, if you want.
1) When I got specific about stuff (like the S-type Jaguar or the Jercho 941 pistol) do you think it helped or did it seem like I was trying too hard to get in descriptions?
2) I've been told multiple times about my spelling, and I'm having trouble finding which words are spelled wrong, so if you find any, could you list them so that I can finally stop doing it?
3) This is one I really want to know about. I know lots of people find flashbacks corny, so I want to know what you all think about the way I did it. Was it still corny? Did it work? Whatever your thoughts may be.
4) Did you notice any lapses in logic? I want as little of those as possible and would appreciate it if you told me about any.
Alright, that's everything. I hope you enjoy it.
Regen:
Chapter 1:
Niles drove down the unkempt dirt road in his crimson S-type Jaguar, one hand on the wheel, the other hanging off the armrest. The revolving tires kicked up dirt and left a brown cloud in his wake. The open window let in a few bits of rubble, but they were left ignored. He liked having the window down.
The wind from the open window rushed in as a coolant, combating the humid 95 degree heat. It rustled his blond hair and sifted through his khaki checkered shirt. His sleeves were rolled up just past the elbow. Even so, his skin felt as if it were burning. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic medicine bottle that read "Take two." The pills inside were red and ovular. He swallowed three without water before replacing them in his pocket. About ten minutes later he could feel the discomfort begin to subside.
There were trees on either side of the Jaguar with lush green leaves forming a makeshift canopy over the road. It was almost like riding through a tunnel, but blades of light stabbed through every crack in the leafy heavens.
The V8, 500 horse power engine roared as Niles pushed down the gas pedal. He couldn’t help but feel excited as he switched gears and saw the speedometer rise. He could get used to this.
However, the Jaguar wasn’t his. Neither was his hair color or the ID reading “Andrew Jones” that was clipped to his breast pocket.
Andrew Jones had been an English medical expert chosen by the data monitoring committee to check the status of Experiment 76 at the Hawthorn Facility. Niles had received the tip from a friend on the inside, and it had been a week since then.
One night ago Jones had walked into his office complex while adjusting his tie. He was dressed in his best suit and his hair was brushed back in a slick dome. The clock on the wall read 9:20. He sighed in relief. He wasn’t late.
Jones had received a call from his secretary saying that a representative of the data monitoring committee was coming in for a private meeting. He was surprised at first since it was getting late, but, not wanting to anger any of the higher ups, he dressed as quickly and as well as he could and left for the office.
He walked up to the front desk and said, “Emily, is the representative…” He trailed off, noticing his secretary wasn’t there. “Emily?” He looked over the desk and around the room. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Must have gone to the bathroom. He walked over to the girl’s room and cracked open the door. “Emily! Are you in there?” No answer. He was getting angry. Damn that girl. I don’t care she’s new. If she’s not back soon she’s fired.
He turned away, frustrated, and walked over to his office. He usually would have noticed that the door should have been closed, but he was thinking about his secretary’s incompetence. He walked inside and felt something cold and hard press into the back of his neck.
“Hello, Mr. Jones,” Niles said with a chilling voice.
Jones froze in fear, a cold prickling sensation coming from where the gun touched his neck. He tried to speak but nothing came out.
“I want you to walk over to your desk, hands raised, and sit down in the chair.” When he didn’t move, Niles pushed the gun deeper into his neck. “Now.”
Jones started forward slowly, each movement carefully thought out. He paused at the chair, not quite sure what to do since it was pushed in. He ended up using his foot to pull it out so he could keep both hands up.
“Now,” Niles said. “Place your hands on the desk, fingers spread.”
Jones complied. He was shaking slightly, but now that the shock was over, he was beginning to calm down. He gathered what courage he had and asked, “Who are you?”
Niles ignored the question, his face remaining calm and emotionless. “Take your ID pass out and place it on the desk.”
Jones didn’t move. “I… I don’t have it with me.”
Niles frowned. “Now don’t give me that. If a representative were coming here he wouldn’t even begin speaking until he saw your ID. Give it to me now.”
Jones hesitated. But when Niles began to tease the trigger he gave in. He slowly reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the ID, setting it on the desk. He looked away, frowning. He knew he was getting in trouble with the wrong people.
Niles took the ID and smiled. “Thanks.” He pulled the trigger.
Now here he was, posing as Andrew Jones, plowing his way down the dirt rode in the dead man’s Jaguar. He reached into his pocket and fished out a sheathed knife. The knife was the reason for all his deeds. The base of the hilt could be removed to reveal a hidden compartment with all Experiment 76 would need. All he had to do was get it to him. He put it away.
The road passed out of the trees and into a large clearing. “Almost there,” Niles said as he saw the Hawthorn facility. It was a twelve story octagonal building with black tinted windows and an unoccupied helicopter pad on the roof. Outside the facility was a nearly filled employee parking lot, beyond that was a chain linked fence, and on all but one side was a crescent shaped lake taking up about half of the clearing.
The road followed closely to the lake until turning sharply to the left, where it was a clear shot to the main gate. He loosened his collar and collected himself. This was the point of no return. Any mistakes would result in all his work going to waist, and he couldn’t let that happen.
Niles slipped on a pair of Aviator sunglasses as he stopped at the front gate, hiding his eye color. He could have put on a pair of the colored contacts that would match their color with Jones’, but he found them highly uncomfortable. Besides, if he wore the contacts and was messing with them the whole time it would be a lot more conspicuous than the sunglasses.
A middle aged security guard standing at the front gate flagged the Jaguar down as it approached. He was overweight with fat curling over his belt, and he had a thick, white mustache. Sweat was dripping off him when he bent down to look through the window.
“Can I see some identification?”
“Sure, just a moment,” Niles said with his best English accent. He unclipped Andrew Jones’ ID from his breast pocket and handed it over.
The security guard looked between the ID and Niles a few times. Finally he handed it back covered in sweat and said, “You look a little younger than in your ID.”
“Ya, I had a little work done.” Niles put a hand on his cheek and attempted a smile.
The security guard wasn’t completely convinced. “Well… Alright. But we’re going to need a bit more verification before we let you pass. Security measures, you know.” He pulled out what looked like an electric organizer. “Place your thumb on the pad.”
Niles looked down at it and quickly recognized it as a fingerprint scanner. His face must have shown his uncertainty, because the guard reacted instantly.
“Sir,” the security guard said, moving his hand to the gun at his side. “I need you to put your thumb on the pad.”
Niles hesitated for a moment, but knew there was no avoiding it “Well if I have to…” He put his thumb on the pad.
The guard moved his hand away from the gun and watched the screen. A moment later a light at the top turned green and the name Andrew Jones appeared below it. He was visibly surprised, but ended up just grunting. “Alright. You can pass.” He took a black walkie-talkie off his belt and said, “Open the gate,” into it before walking away.
The gate rumbled and was accompanied by a loud, winding sound as it slowly shifted to the side. The bottom scraped against the road as it passed. Niles looked over at the ground where it dragged and noticed a couple inch deep hole, probably formed through repeated use. A metal clang sounded as it fully retracted.
“See you later,” Niles said with a wave. He put his foot on the gas and drove through the open gate. He chuckled to himself, looking at his hand. Gordon had done such a good job blending it in with his arm it was impossible to see the skin tight rubber glove bearing Jones’ fingerprints. He’d been skeptical about it at first, but his doubts had been abated.
There was a man in a white lab coat standing with his hands behind his back just outside the building’s entrance. His cheeks and chin showed a little stubble, and his long, brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. A pair of spectacles rested before his serious, hazel eyes, and a surgeon’s face mask hung off his neck. He was younger than Niles, maybe thirty, but he knew what the man had done with those years, and it was definitely something to be proud of. He waved to the oncoming Jaguar.
Niles pulled over to the curb by the entrance and turned off the engine. He stepped out and with his hand prepared to shake and said, “Hello, I’m Andrew Jones.” He knew who the man was, of course. He’d seen his picture and kept track of his movements for years. The man was Groesbeck, the head gene manipulation expert of the Regen Program and the forefather of the current practice.
Groesbeck shook Niles' hand without smiling or blinking. “We’ve already met, but for productivity’s sake, I’m doctor Groesbeck.” He spoke with a thick German accent.
Niles flinched. Such mistakes were hard to avoid. “My apologies. Names aren’t my specialty. Medicine is.”
Groesbeck stared at him for a while without emotion, not reacting to his joke.
What is he thinking, I wonder?
Just as the tension was reaching its climax, Groesbeck said, “Very well. Shall we move on?”
Niles sighed. “Of course.”
They walked up to twin glass doors that were, like the windows, tinted black. Pressure pads on the ground sensed their presence and signaled for the doors to open, allowing them to pass through.
The lobby was, unsurprisingly, just as plain as the outside. The room was circular with only a few doors, all of which with no window to peer through, and there was one hallway at the far side. The walls were smooth and painted white, there were no decorations or splashes of color here or there to liven up the place, and he seemed to be the only thing that stood out. Everyone else, if you could find them, blended into the walls with their white coats, face masks, and gloves. It almost hurt to look around.
Groesbeck walked up to a desk at the center of the room. A woman with golden blonde hair in a bun looked up at him from behind it.
“This is him,” he said to her, pointing back at Niles.
The woman nodded and turned to a computer, typed a few keys, and then turned back. She folded her hands and looked at Niles. “Your presence has been acknowledged. If you don’t check out within an hour, you’ll be found, detained, and released only after harsh questioning. Understood?”
“Don’t worry,” Niles said. “I won’t...”
“Understood?” She asked again forcefully.
After a brief pause he nodded.
“Good. I’m assuming Dr. Groesbeck will take you to its room?” She directed this at Groesbeck.
“Yes, I am.”
“Good. Then you may leave.” She turned back to her computer and let them be.
Groesbeck waved his hand toward the back hallway. “This way.”
Before entering the hall, Niles looked back at the woman and remembered the saying “blondes have more fun.” That’s such bull.
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Okay, that's the first half of chapter 1. I'll put the other half in another post after I've had a few reviews. Once again, I'm only doing this so that the story is critiqued in easier, smaller sections. And thanks for reading.
Gender:
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