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Author Topic: These Streets  (Read 3700 times)

Offline Declan_23

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These Streets
« on: March 23, 2011, 11:01:20 pm »
Okay guys, for those of you who have been around long enough, you'll know that I started a series of short stories entitled 'These Streets'. Over the months, this evolved into something a little bigger, to the point where I had a full blown novel planned out. Due to personal reasons, I no longer wish to carry on with this piece of writing, but here it is up until the point where I stopped. For those of you who just can't live without knowing how it was gonna turn out, I'm more than happy to answer questions. Anyways, here goes:

Prologue
Snow covered the streets. It should have been cold. But anger is always hot.
Sweat poured down the faces of the crowd. It soaked into their clothes, melting the thin layer of white that had had a chance to settle.
The air felt as if it would rip under the stress of a thousand shouts and screams, punctuated by gunshots.
A tall, young boy stood near the back of the throng. Baggy, ripped jeans covered his legs, and he wore a black hoodie, drawn tight to cover his face.
He felt the anger surge through him.
It was infectious. It made him feel alive. It gave him a purpose.
How dare they come here and take what was his? Was he expected to give up what he'd spent his life making his?
His train of thought was interrupted as a man in front of him collapsed, blood spraying from his temple. A stray bullet had grazed his head. His lips were moving. Instinctively the boy dropped to his knees. The blood formed a pool around his head.
"Any sacrifice, any sacrifice" The man murmured as life seeped out of him. Frantically the boy looked for something to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. Condensation had stopped curling upwards from his mouth. He fought back tears for this man who he'd never known. For the first time he noticed what the man was wearing. A quote was scrawled by hand across his shirt. 'I say a man who was nothing to die for, is not fit to live'. Forcing his sorrow to take a back seat, he stood up. This man had not given up even at death's door. He vowed that he would fight for these streets with tooth and nail.
With his renewed strength he looked around, ready to take on any figure of authority. But there was a change in the feeling of the crowd. A cheer rippled through the people. They had done it. They had won.


Chapter 1
Rays of moonlight feebly illuminated the dark alleyway. The night was quiet with the exception of the steady dripping of melting icicles. A dark figure cursed under his breath as he stepped into puddle, the sound of splashing echoed off of the buildings on either side. He hastily checked for any sign he had been heard.
Satisfied that he had remained undiscovered he relaxed his stance. Keeping his left hand on his waist, the boy extracted a canister from his back pocket.
In the darkness he smiled to himself, he found it ironic that in past decades the world had changed. Technology had advanced, as had ideals and politics. Yet the most powerful weapon was still the written word. He set to work, scrawling messages of hate and anger on the brick.
As he stepped back to admire his work, a small click echoed down the alley. In one swift moment, he dropped the spray paint, drew out his left hand and threw his flick knife to his right. Despite the hours of practise, his right hand shook, causing reflections to bounce off of the walls. All pretence of stealth had been lost when he had dropped the can, and so he risked a shout.
"Who are you?" The boy's voice highlighted the silence of the dark.
After a few deliberate seconds a husky deep voice replied. "Drop your weapon." A young man with a shaven head stepped into view. He wore black cargos and a blood red shirt; the uniform of the British Fascist League.
The boy eyed the man's attire. There was no obvious weapon, yet the man seemed too confident to have not brought an insurance policy. He adopted the stance he had been learning for the past months: legs wide, slightly bent, low centre of gravity, straight back. Despite the attempts at a relaxed posture, his knuckles were white as he gripped his blade.
"No." He whispered softly. The man's eyes widened slowly. He had never met resistance before. However, he did not pause as he swung a punch.


Chapter 2
The top of the sun edged its way over the buildings lining the alleyway; illuminating a half finished slogan scrawled in red paint.
'The Nazis are back and...'
It had been crudely executed and long fingers of crimson snaked their way to the ground where they mixed with splatters of blood.
Three hooded figures huddled around a body sprawled in the middle of one of the many dark pools. "You think he's alive?" A slightly shocked voice broke the silence.
Pain seared through his head as if somebody was slowly driving nails into his skull.
"No chance. Look at all that blood." It was uttered animalistically, almost a growl.
Through the mists of pain he became dimly aware of something different.
"I dunno mate, I think he's breathing."
Hard. It was hard. That was what he could feel.
"You know what? I don't think that blood's his." A third voice broke into the conversation.
He could now make out thin individual stones digging into his back and neck.
"poop. I'd hate to see the other guy"
Gritting his teeth with effort, the boy let out a low moan.
"All right, let's get him somewhere sheltered"
***
A bright light pierced his eyelids. Everything hurt, but it seemed to spread from his forehead, like a bull’s-eye on a dartboard. But slowly, the agony began to subside; he felt a soothing, cooling sensation begin at the epicentre of his pain. Experimentally, he clenched a fist. His fingers burned, but it wasn't unbearable. Feeling more confident, he moved his other arm; again, it wasn't exactly a great feeling but he could handle it. Satisfied that he wasn't about to die any time soon, he cast his mind back to the alley.
He remembered the sheer terror as the fist came hurtling towards him. The way he raised his right arm up in self defence.
“Oh God, oh God.” He began to whisper as the realisation began to dawn on him. “No, please, no.”
“Don't worry mate, you'll be fine.” Reassured one of the people from his dreams. 'Badger! He's waking up!'
As he peeled his eyes slowly open, they watered from the harsh light emitted by the bare light bulb dangling above his head; a dark man swam into view as they adjusted to the contrast. He was clean shaven and seemed to be in his early twenties, and an old sword was buckled at his waist. He had a dark complexion and was clearly of Middle Eastern descent. This surprised the boy; he hadn’t seen anybody so obviously foreign for years. It was an amazing feat that he had managed to avoid deportation.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, the aching was still there but the fiery pain seemed to have subsided for now. He was in a drab empty room; the walls and ceiling were white, the floor stripped to boards. A curtain covered the single window, although sunlight crept through the dividing crack.
“An abandoned building, just like any other.”
  He thought to himself.
“Wakey, wakey sleeping beauty.” Strangely, the man's accent seemed to point to London middle class background.
”Where am I?” The groaned the boy. His voice was garbled and his tongue felt like a slug in his mouth.
“Not the most original line I guess...”
A previously unnoticed door in the corner of the room swung open squeakily on its rusted hinges. A huge bulky figure stepped through the gap. His shoulders spanned the doorway and his head was dangerously close to the ceiling. Stubble covered his face, but it failed to disguise a jagged scar on his right cheek. His hair was buzz cut; the impression he gave was not of somebody who took much care of his appearance.
“You're in one of our safe houses.” He growled. “Camel has fixed you up, you'll be fighting fit in a week.” He indicated the dark skinned man.
“I'm Badger; we don't use our real names here. And after your display last night, you'll be known as Wolf.”
“What do you mean ‘our’? How many of you are there?” Wolf only just realised his predicament.
“This is Kidnap, and this guy doesn't exactly look like he's gonna let me walk free...”
“Even I don’t know the answer to that question, but there are not many of us. We represent those in society who have none to represent them, namely foreigners.”
“What do you want with me? And what do you know about last night?”
“You're lucky we found you; not only did we patch you up but we have the CCTV tapes of your little scuffle.” Almost as an afterthought Badger leaned in a little closer, “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he whispered. His eyes glinted in awe.
Wolf panicked. “How much can I tell him? He claims to stand up for others, but how can I trust him?”
“I... uh, it just came naturally.” he stammered.
Badger's dark brown eyes pierced him; he betrayed nothing as he slowly replied “Of course it did.” There was no hint of irony or sarcasm. “I suppose your family will want to know where you are.”
“I have no family.” Wolf spat out, frustrated with the questioning. “I don't need anybody else.”
“We'll see about that.” Badger smirked “Where do you stay?”
“This is like a bloody interrogation.”
“Around.” he replied guardedly.
“Good, you'll stay with us from now.” revealed Badger. “We could do with more recruits with your...”He paused, eyeing Wolf slowly, searching for the word. “Talents.”
“WHAT? I don't even know you!”
Badger gave a snort of laughter “You didn't think we'd just let you go, did you? On your feet, we need to head back to HQ.” He spoke now with heightened urgency. Wolf peeled himself off the mildewed mattress he'd been lying on. His now blood stained hoodie lay crumpled on the floor. He pulled it on over his baggy navy t-shirt. His jeans were ripped, dotted with brown and black after his ordeal; his once blue trainers felt sticky on the bare floorboards. There was no chance that he'd be able to disguise that he'd been fighting.
Now that he'd stood up, he could better judge the height of the men. Badger towered over him, but Camel barely reached his shoulders. The small man led the way out of the room. Bright sunlight startled Wolf after the dark room and a blast of cool air froze his exposed face. Hurriedly he pulled up his hood and tightened the cords.
 Leaning against the wall to the right of the front door stood a short, stocky man wearing cargo shorts and a tight “Hard Rock Cafe” t-shirt. His blond hair was shaved down to a number two and he sported a stud in his left ear.
“This is Rat.” Badger indicated the guard. “He used to be a professional bodyguard and's as hard as nails.” Wolf noticed a small smirk on Rat's face as he jokingly flexed a bicep.
Camel led the way down through the backstreets. Despite the sun being high in the sky, shadows played across the narrow alleys camouflaging the grime. The route snaked deeper into the older and rougher part of town. Slogans covered the walls: 'White is right!' and 'chansey the Nazis!' battled to cover each other. Wolf's night time efforts had not been in vain.
Badger and Wolf walked side by side, with Rat bringing up the rear. “So, if Rat's a guard, what do you and Camel do?” Wolf finally plucked up the courage to ask the intimidating man.
“Camel's a medic. Although, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of him and a scimitar. You're lucky he was with us when we found you. My job is little more... obscure, you'll find out more soon...” Badger cut himself short as Camel came to an abrupt stop outside an old terraced house.


Chapter 3
The ancient, dark green door looked as it could withstand a siege. The three men checked the streets either side of the entrance for passersby. When they were convinced they were alone, Camel rapped sharply on the door four times. A hatch was drawn back and an eye quickly filled the gap. The man on the other side gave an affirmative grunt and swung open the door. Wolf was shoved in and the others quickly followed.
The sentry on the door was pounced on by Camel, who quickly kissed both his cheeks. The young man turned bright red and quickly began vigorously rubbing his face. “You don't need to do that every fooking time.” He muttered as he touched fists with Rat.
The four of them were standing in a large entrance hall, the walls were clad in dark wood panelling and the brightly tiled floor contrasted with the drab furnishings. A lonely bookcase stood next to the stool where the guard had been seated. An assault rifle rested on the floor in front. The sight of this made Wolf feel queasy, he'd never been at home around firearms.
“You can go through now.” The unnamed man indicated a door on the left. Wolf had no idea what to expect as he gingerly followed Badger through. Rat and Camel had seemingly disappeared while he was examining his surroundings.
Three men were seated around a long dining table. An intricately designed chandelier hung above them, shedding light on the scene. The figure at the head of the table was in his late sixties, with short white hair and a grey moustache. Despite his age, he held an air of confidence and the others eyed him with respect. To the right of him sat a tall African man of slight build. He was in the process of trimming his fingernails with a military issue dagger. The third man had his back to Wolf. He also, was past his prime and had little hair on his head. Wolf gasped as the ageing man turned around his seat. Then, remembering himself, he pushed his feet together and bowed low.
“Sensei!” He breathed in recognition of a man he’d not seen in years.
“Relax... Wolf, I hear they call you now.” The old man sighed softly “It appears you have had to put your training to use. It is not an experience I would wish on anybody. I am sorry you live in these troubled times. However, this only stresses how important it is for you to continue your studies.”
The man at the head of the table stood up. Despite his age, his arms and chest were heavily muscled, and he stood perfectly straight. “Welcome Wolf,” he began “I am Eagle, the leader of our group. We have been living in the background of society for a few years now. We oppose the fascist and racist dictatorship that has overtaken our country in recent years.”
“So, you’re like the resistance?”
Eagle let out a deep chuckle “Somebody’s been watching too many war films. But yes, I suppose you could put it that way. This,” he indicated the black man to his right. “Is Cobra. He’s our weapons specialist, and spent 5 years in the Zimbabwean SAS before the regime change.” Cobra grinned, at least half his teeth were gold plated, as he revealed two more knives concealed in his sleeves. “I believe you have already met Sensei...”
“I am too old for your silly codenames.” the older man interjected.
“Burnside, our martial arts consultant. Badger is our firearms instructor. He was working with the commandos when you were still in nappies. So,” Eagle reassumed his seat, stretching his arms out, fingers interlocked, and smiled in an almost fatherly way. “I know that we do a dangerous job, but with over 70 years of experience under our belts, you’ll be in the safest of hands. And as I’ve always said, better to die for a cause than to be caught in the crossfire. Will you join us?”
Wolf almost laughed at the irony of the situation. Here he was, covered in blood and bandages, completely dependent on these strangers’ help and he was being offered a place amongst them. “Yeah, of course I will. But, I really don’t feel so good.”
“That is to be expected.” Agreed Eagle “Mouse will show you your room.” Almost as if he’d been listening in, the man who had let them in stepped into the room.
“C’mon.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. Wolf turned around to say goodbye to the leaders, but they had already resumed their conversation. As he passed Mouse, he received a powerful slap on the back. “Good on ya. I knew you’d join the moment I saw your eyes.” It was only now that his Scottish accent came through. “Just up here.” He led the way up a staircase off of the hall.
“Voila.” he spread his arms out as if unveiling a masterpiece. Wolf gasped in amazement; the corridor stretched out 3 times as long as it should on both sides. “It’s like the fooking Tardis.” Mouse joked “It’s bigger on the inside.” After staring for a few seconds, Wolf noticed where the internal walls had been knocked down. From the outside, the street appeared to have several abandoned buildings, but on the inside it could house 50 people.
“Here we are,” They stopped outside a bedroom with a large red cross painted on the door. “Due to your state, you’ll be staying in the med room for a couple of days.” He swung the door open, revealing two bunk beds crammed in next to each other, just leaving enough room for a large, double-doored metal cabinet and a small rectangular mirror. Light came from a lamp hanging from the ceiling, the window was boarded up, despite the glass panes being intact. “I’ll leave you to it.”
When Mouse slammed the door, Wolf was overcome with tiredness. He’d walked halfway across the city, was covered in bandages and still ached from the fight the previous night. Stripping to his boxers, he was able to examine the damage for the first time. His nose was slightly broken, a large bump had formed halfway down the bridge; one of his eyes was deep purple, turning black. The eyebrow above had been cut open, and was crudely taped back together with butterfly stitches. His right hand was bandaged, along with his left elbow. All in all, he looked like he’d just walked out of a hospital.
With barely enough energy left to turn off the light, Wolf collapsed into the nearest bed, not bothering to cover himself.

Offline Declan_23

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #1 on: March 23, 2011, 11:02:59 pm »
Chapter 4
Wolf was woken by the sounds of boots on the floorboards outside his door. Once again, he let out a groan, despite having slept for 12 hours solidly, he still felt like crap. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth; it tasted horribly sour, as if he’d been drinking the night before. Unable to conjure up the energy to find some water, he lay on his back. Despite the planks nailed across it, light seeped through the window, allowing him to study the underside of the top bunk.
“What have I got myself into? They want me to kill more people. I can’t fight soldiers. I guess I owe them something for their help. I’d probably be dead without it. Maybe I can run away, but I’ve always wanted to do something against the government.”
Wolf gave up his internal debate; he just ended up going round in circles, and focused on his current course of action. “I could really use a shower.” His eyes drifted towards the heap on the floor. “And some more clothes.” He briefly wondered where you could buy clothes without being registered, before a knock came at the door. “Come in.” He attempted, but only managed a kind of affirmative growl. A young Indian woman in her mid twenties entered. She wore jeans and a black cardigan, her eyes were a dark brown and the ends of her lips were curled up in a seemingly ever present smile.
“Good morning,” She greeted him in her sing-song voice. “I hope you slept well. I’m Owl and I’ll be taking care of you for the next few days.” She turned to rummage in the cabinet to Wolf’s right. “Here, these should take care of any infection.” She handed him a handful of pills and a pint glass of water. He greedily gulped down the mixture, glad to moisten his dry throat. “Now, if you let me take a look, I can try and see the extent of my husband’s mess.” She joked. Wolf relaxed, enjoying being mothered for the first time since he was a toddler.
Owl worked slowly and gently, removing the stitches above his eye, and applying new ones. She rubbed a cream into his black eye, and cleaned and redressed his wounds. Throughout the process she talked about her past. Her parents, being Indian and devout Hindus had moved back to Asia when the new Government came to power. Being 18 and studying to become a nurse, she had decided against her parent’s wishes to remain in London. She’d managed to keep her job at the local corner shop at first, due to the fact that the owner was a family friend. However, as more and more radical laws were passed, Owl realised that she was putting the shopkeeper and his family in danger. By now, the majority of non-whites had left the country, to Europe or to where their parents had come from, making her stick out in the city. One evening, she packed her bags and left. Walking down an unlit alleyway, she was attacked by white supremacists. The thugs were armed with bats and knives, and threatened to kill her for ‘polluting the country’.
“And then, the most amazing thing happened,” She seemed lost in the memory. “A man appeared out of nowhere, and fought them off with his medieval sword. And the rest, as they say, is history. But now, it’s time for you to wash.” She handed him a plain white towel. “The bathroom is opposite this room. I’ll put some new clothes out for you. When you’re done come downstairs for breakfast.”
After she’d left, Wolf cautiously opened the door and peered out, checking to see the way was clear. Relieved that nobody else was going to see him in his boxers he opened the bathroom door. Considering the state of the bedroom, it was surprisingly clean. Everything was sparkling white and clean. Taking his time, he ran the shower until it was boiling hot before stepping in and drawing the curtain. Breathing a soft sigh of relief, he let the hot spray envelope his head and shoulders. The water pooled at his feet was black from dirt and dried blood.
After scrubbing himself with soap until his skin was red and raw, he towelled off, put his boxers back on and opened the door. Wolf gave a yelp of surprise when he realised there was a girl standing there. He sprinted back into his room, cheeks burning red, but his foot caught on the edge of a rug and he tumbled into the bedroom. The girl collapsed into hysterics. “Very elegant!” She shouted after him. Hurriedly, he scrambled to his feet and slammed the door closed. He felt as if he’d been hit by a bull in the chest, unable to remain standing, he lay on the floor until the pain faded.
 Spread out on his now-made bed were two pairs of dark combat trousers and piles of clean underwear and t-shirts. Unsure of what to do with the surplus clothes, he folded them up and stacked them on the floor. A pair of slightly worn boots perched at the foot of the bed. They had once been highly polished, but were now scuffed and creased. He pulled them on, tying the laces tight. After a few seconds thought, he grabbed his hoodie from the floor. It wasn’t exactly warm yet.
Once again he crept into the corridor, this time safe in the knowledge that he was fully clothed. However, the passage was once again clear. Voices and the sharp tang of bacon drifted up from the floor below. Unsure of what to expect, Wolf slowly edged his way to the stairs, trying to postpone the moment of introducing himself for as long as possible. Once reaching the bottom, he found himself in a different ‘house’ from yesterday. The layout was exactly the same, and the sound of activity came from behind the door leading to the dining room. Finally the emptiness of his stomach outmatched the fear of the unknown and he slowly entered.
   It was like a tidal wave of noise, it washed over him temporarily stunning him. The room was hazy from smoke and packed with people. Every place was taken at the table and a few men ate standing up. Mostly they were dressed in clothes similar to him: combat trousers or cargo shorts and boots. Only some of the women showed any style or fashion, wearing knee length dresses. The separating wall between the dining room and the kitchen had been knocked out; apparently these guys were big on interior design.
Owl walked up to him, bringing him out of his daze. “Follow me.” She smiled and led the way into the kitchen half of the room. Once again Wolf was taken aback. Piles of bacon and sausages lined the counters; three huge gallon jugs were filled with milk. “We have a deal with some of the farmers.” She explained. “Lunch and dinner are a little less impressive.” She picked up a plate and handed it to him; almost immediately one of the cooks placed two rashers of bacon, a sausage and a fried egg onto it. “Go and sit down.” She gestured to the dining room. By now quite a few people had left and there was an empty spot at the table. As he walked over he concentrated on his food, making sure it didn’t spill over the sides. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally plonked it down and looked up. The girl from earlier was sitting opposite him.
“Don’t give up your day job.” She joked.
Once again, Wolf grew red in the face. He returned her stare. She was oriental and about his age. “Probably Chinese.” He thought to himself. Her long, black hair hung down around her shoulders. He estimated that she was about a head and a half smaller than her. She was also wearing combat trousers and a tight, black t-shirt.
“You can sit down now.” She smirked at him as if was being slow. “I’m Tiger.”
“Wolf.” He sat down and he ate in silence, his eyes fixated on his plate, unable to think of anything to continue the conversation. When he was finished, he looked up to once again see her looking at him. “What?”
“Nothing, here, I’ll take your plate.” He watched her silently as she walked over to the kitchen and handed them over to Owl who began to wash up. The two of them chatted and giggled as if they were old friends.
“BOO!” Came a booming voice from behind his right ear. Wolf shot two feet in the air to the delight of everybody in the room. He turned round to face the culprit, Badger.
“Don’t get too comfortable, your training begins in a week.” And with that he spun around and strode out the door.


Chapter 5
Wolf lay in bed once again staring at the bottom of the bunk above. After his first night, he’d been moved into a room with Rat and Mouse, who’d been best friends since they’d been tasked with guarding the same celebrity. They’d joked and bantered with him, trying to make him comfortable with his new life. To some extent it had worked, but he still had qualms about his first day of training.
The last week had sped by; mainly he’d slept, getting his strength back. His body had made a remarkable recovery, there was no trace of a black eye, scabs covered his eyebrow and elbow and he could move his hand freely. He’d also helped out with the cooking and cleaning, everybody took turns it seemed. He’d met almost everybody from the group two nights earlier, a blur of faces and names. A large group of them had successfully ambushed a convoy to the barracks in town, meaning they now had more arms than people. The thought made Wolf queasy, he really didn’t like guns. But the celebrations had been massive; Eagle had bought out five large kegs of beer from one of the cellars and he’d gotten fairly drunk, much to the amusement of the mainly older crowd. With his courage enhanced by the alcohol, he’d attempted to talk to Tiger. Talking wasn’t exactly his strong point, and the conversation was peppered with awkward silences until he made an excuse to leave. The one thing that he’d been able to gather was that they’d be training together.
   A sharp beeping sound interrupted his thoughts; Rat’s alarm went off at 6 AM daily. They worked 7 day weeks. The two burly men rolled out of bed and pulled their trousers and boots on.
   “C’mon lazy bones.” Rat kicked Wolf’s bunk. “No lie in for you today.”
   After waiting to make sure Wolf wasn’t going to stay lying in bed, the two of them jogged down to breakfast. They were inseparable, and if Wolf hadn’t known better, they could have been brothers. Sighing to himself he got dressed, his allotted shower time was in the evening, and ran to catch up with the others at breakfast. Used to the routine, he grabbed plate and sat down at the table. This early, the majority of the others were still washing or getting dressed, meaning that Wolf was seated alone. Now, with his food sat in front of him, he was aware that his appetite had left him. The thought of  going out and fighting now terrified him, which only angered himself at how soft he’d become. Once again caught up in his thoughts, Badger made him jump when he sat down opposite him.
   “I never took you for an early riser.”
   “Well, Rat and Mouse are, I’m not given much choice.”
   “I can imagine. Anyway, I’m here to speak about your training. It’ll be split into three parts. First firearms with me,” Wolf gulped. ”Then you’ll continue unarmed combat with Sensei Burnside. To round off, Cobra will teach you weapons. You begin in one hour.”

***

   Wolf sat cross-legged in the basement turned armoury with a rifle across his lap. Boxes of ammunition and firearms filled the small room, leaving only a small area for the three of them. He was in the middle of stripping it under Badger’s instruction. Tiger sat near him, her rifle already in pieces. Badger had explained that this rifle was his now in his personal care. It’d be his responsibility to keep it in good working order. “And your life may well depend on it.” He added with sincerity. “The last thing you want in the middle of a fire fight is for it to jam.”
   Since Wolf had realised that it was mainly made up of springs and levers inside, he’d become much less nervous around the guns. Although, he still fancied his chances were better in an unarmed fight. He slid out the firing spring and gently oiled it before locking it back in place, repeating the process with all the other sliding components. Satisfied that it was clean, Wolf reassembled the rifle and handed it over to Badger.
   “Not bad,” He remarked after cocking it and holding it open. “Now for some quick drills.” He showed Wolf how to slide a magazine in and out. “Now your turn.” Wolf tried to copy his action as closely as possible. It was a lot tougher than it looked. “And again.” Badger made him repeat the process for half an hour until Wolf was loading in milliseconds. “Good, by the end of the week I want you to strip and clean the weapon blindfolded. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you Tiger.” Badger glared at the girl who’d been sitting doing nothing for the past hour. “The Sensei’s made up some kind of dojo in the basement next door. He’ll be expecting you in a few minutes.” The two of them handed their rifles back and jogged up the stairs.
   “Is he serious about the blindfold thing?” Wolf questioned
   “Yeah, but it’s not as hard as you think. Much easier than anything Burnside teaches.”
   “Nah, martial arts are easy.”
   “Yeah right. How would you know?”
   “Sensei Burnside trained me a few years ago, before I left.”
   “Oh really? Well I guess we’ll see how good really you are.” She retorted unbelievingly. She knocked on a door with ‘DOJO’ scribbled on with marker pen.
   “Come in.” Came the reply from inside. The two of them entered and took of their shoes. This room was identical to the previous one, with the exception that in this one the floor was covered with matting. The Sensei cracked a smile. “It has been a long time, Wolf, and you’re out of practise. But I’d like to see how much. So, please.” He gestured for them to take a place in the middle of the mat. Wolf smiled at Tiger, who stood three paces opposite him. She glared back.
   “Rei!” He commanded. The two of them bowed, eyes remaining fixed on each other. “Hajime!”
   Tiger stepped forward with her right foot and aimed a punch at Wolf’s chest. He slid his left foot behind him, putting himself out of harm’s way, grabbed her arm with both hands and used her momentum to flip her onto her back. “Nice try.” He smiled at her on the floor. She sprang back onto her feet, a little abashed. Once again she attacked, rushing at him. This time Wolf grabbed her collar as she came at him, spinning on the balls of his feet and swung his leg across her hips, sending her flying towards to floor again.
   “Why don’t you attack?” She glared as she got up once again, this time standing defensively. In response Wolf grasped her sleeve, pulling her towards him. She resisted pulling backwards, allowing him to sweep her legs away underneath her.
   “Give up yet?” he smirked.
“I see you still have your speed.” Sensei Burnside remarked “But how will you do against an armed opponent?” He threw Tiger a rubber knife and she grinned. She gripped the knife in completely the wrong position Wolf noticed. She circled him slowly, waiting for the opportune moment. Wolf swivelled on the spot, keeping his gaze on her. She dummied a lunge and swung

Offline Jerry

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #2 on: March 24, 2011, 07:42:28 pm »
Wow! I'll have to take a special time to read all this XD. I promise to read it when I've got that time :)
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Offline Declan_23

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #3 on: March 24, 2011, 08:54:11 pm »
Hahaha, okay, it's ~ 6000 words.

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #4 on: March 26, 2011, 10:46:00 am »
Nice piece of work, but it does end abruptly, lol.

But now, if I start asking questions, you'll have to write it all until it ends :-[
No one can go back and change a bad beginning; but anyone can start now and create a successful ending.
If a problem can be solved, no need to worry about it. If it cannot be solved what is the use of worrying?

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Offline Declan_23

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #5 on: March 26, 2011, 12:11:14 pm »
Haha, I may carry on sometime in the future, but I doubt it. Seriously though, ask away :)

Offline Jerry

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #6 on: March 26, 2011, 12:30:56 pm »
Lol, you're not forced to answer them, but since you asked for them ;)

The prologue is quite confusing. I thought that you would have explained later in the chapters, but since you are no more writing it...
- What was Wolf doing there? Some movement against the dictator I'd guess at this point.
- Did the killed man had the same purpose?
- The people were happy about something, somehow, the government or the people were happy that the man was now dead?

Did you plan them to succeed in their task, that is fighting fascist and racist dictators?
Are those fascist and racist dictators not doing anything to bring down their opponents?
I should take it that Tiger is quite new herself?
Did you plan something further than friendship between Tiger and Wolf?
What happens after the little 'testing' martial arts session? Wolf gets trained further? Does he help Tiger too?
Does Wolf finally get used to using firearms more than his martial arts talents?

I wondered if you would put even more characters in the story, and how many animal names there would be :P

I have to go now, maybe more questions will pop in later ;D
No one can go back and change a bad beginning; but anyone can start now and create a successful ending.
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Offline Declan_23

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #7 on: March 26, 2011, 01:01:29 pm »
Woaaah, okay. I'll try my best.

The prologue is quite confusing. I thought that you would have explained later in the chapters, but since you are no more writing it...
- What was Wolf doing there? Some movement against the dictator I'd guess at this point.
- Did the killed man had the same purpose?
- The people were happy about something, somehow, the government or the people were happy that the man was now dead?

The prologue is set a about 4 or 5 years before the main narrative. This was when the dictators first came to power. The idea was that the general public rose up against them and won a major riot. However, after this (This bit was going to become clear later) they used their superior firepower to crush the public and the rebels were forced to move underground.
The killed man was rioting against the government like most of the public, however, his death was unrelated to the end of the riot. The people were happy because they thought they'd won.

Did you plan them to succeed in their task, that is fighting fascist and racist dictators?

The end was going to be a cliff-hanger after a botched rescue attempt. The majority of the rebels aside from Wolf would die.

Are those fascist and racist dictators not doing anything to bring down their opponents?

That's a good question, they had no official opponents, only underground rebels. They had the British Fascist League (based on Hitler's SA) to try and act as an alternative police force. With which the rebels would occasionally clash.

I should take it that Tiger is quite new herself?

Yes, she'd joined only a few weeks before Wolf.

Did you plan something further than friendship between Tiger and Wolf?

Yeah, they were going to paired up as partners. Just before Tiger died at the end, Wolf was going to admit his feelings for her.

What happens after the little 'testing' martial arts session? Wolf gets trained further? Does he help Tiger too?

Sensei Burnside does train them a little further, however, my own knowledge of unarmed combat is limited to judo and so this would have made it hard for me to describe the training in much detail.

Does Wolf finally get used to using firearms more than his martial arts talents?

Although they were both equipped with rifles, Tiger was always going to be the better, and Wolf better with everything else. As they were going to be paired together, I thought it would nicely balance them out.

I wondered if you would put even more characters in the story, and how many animal names there would be :P

The only other main character would have been the fascist leader who would have had a normal name. I tried to give the characters animal names to reflect their personality and background.

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Re: These Streets
« Reply #8 on: March 26, 2011, 05:21:35 pm »
Nice, I think that covers it all and no more questions for you luckily :P The next chapters could describe many battles, the start of their jobs together, after each working with a different partner maybe to get some field experience, then getting and losing some bases, and later on the final battle where all but Wolf die. Yes, I think that'd be interesting when elaborated. Well, I have the big picture now, so thanks! ;D
No one can go back and change a bad beginning; but anyone can start now and create a successful ending.
If a problem can be solved, no need to worry about it. If it cannot be solved what is the use of worrying?

Currently playing Pokemon XY/ORAS/Shuffle and Clash of Clans and testing out PokemonRevolutionOnline and Dragonmon Hunter....
Also, forum notification emails are not getting in my inbox... again...