The Morrow Project: Destiny Is Yours

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The Morrow Project: Destiny Is Yours

Post by bobturkee » Wed Sep 09, 2009 8:23 am

Name: Amber Colton

Soft feminine hands with well manicured nails flipped through a dark brown file folder. The pages rattled as she glided through various parts of the document. "Please continue," she said in a soft tone looking across the fluorescent non-descript cinderblock walled room at the man across the table from her. Her hair was a soft strawberry blonde color that hung to the middle of her back when it was not tightly wrapped in a bun and pinned to the back of her head. She had supple, pouty lips that sad on her soft girlish features. Her eyes were ghostly yet comforting; with a vivid blue-gray shine to them anchored by her high set cheek bones. By appearance she was in her mid twenties, but her youthful deception obscured the decade of difference. She looked intently at the man sitting across from her at the table.

"Well. There I was standing on the edge of the cliff and it felt like I couldn't control myself. I couldn't stop myself from jumping."

He was in his mid thirties, white, and bore the scars of a hard life on the street. He wasn’t particularly muscular, but the tattoos on his neck and the look on his face was enough to send chills up your spine without even knowing that he was a serial rapist who had assaulted at least seven women when he was seventeen. He occasionally rolled his tongue across his half-rotted teeth in a gesture that made vomit pool in the back of your mouth for anyone who was unfortunate enough to see.

"Why do you think that is?" she asked.

"I guess I can't control myself. Or at least I feel that way sometimes. Like when I was hurting those women."

"Do you feel that way now?"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, are you feeling like you are not in control of yourself or your impulses right now?"

"No the medicine helps.”

She scribbled in her notebook and said, “That’s good. Do you think you would ever not be able to control yourself and commit your crime again?”

“I don’t think so, but…”

“…but what?”

“…sometimes when I am alone…” His eyes raced up and down her blouse at the shape of her breasts and bra. “…sometimes when I am alone Ms. Colton…I think about you…I think about you Amber and I start to touch my…”

She looked up with a spooky gleam in her eyes that almost seemed to glow at the pervert across from her. It seemed to stop him mid-sentence before she even had a chance to say anything. “This is totally inappropriate. I am assigning you a new psychiatrist and I am recommending an increase in the number of session you have each week. I think you still have some issues that therapy could help.”

He snapped out of his trance looking across the table at her like an animal who had not eaten in weeks. “You bitch!” he screamed lunging across the table at her. His chair flipped back as he landed with his knees on the table top.

Amber pushed back from the table edge narrowly missing the swing of his fist as she teetered back on two legs of the chair.

With his missed punch the man found himself off balance and toppled forward onto the floor head first.

Amber rocked back the chair forward pinning the man’s right hand to the ground with the leg of the metal framed chair. She quickly hopped up and placed her high healed shoe on the man’s throat. “Look you pig. I said no.”

“Are you wearing underwear under that skirt?” he asked choking under the trap of her high heal.

She focused on him again, staring him in the eyes, and seeming to hypnotize him momentarily. Then with a twisted little smile she reached behind her back and pulled out a hand held stun gun. “Fucker,” she said reaching down and hitting him with the stun gun for a few seconds. He was unconscious and she was gathering her things to let security deal with him.

As she exited the conference room at the psychiatric center a man in a finely tailored dark suit approached her. “Excuse me. Ms. Colton? Ms. Amber Colton?” Security rushed past them into the room she had just exited from.

“Yes. How can I help you Mr.?” She smiled looking deep into his eyes trying to read him with her special little talent.

‘You’re not strong enough to do that to me,’ echoed in her head in his voice.

He smiled at her, “I’m Joseph Storm. I represent a client who would be very interested in talking with you about a once in a lifetime opportunity for someone of your particular abilities. Would you be interested meeting with my client?”

“When?”

“I have a car waiting outside. We could go right now. It will only take a couple of hours. Your colleague Dr. MacMillan recommended you. He will be there.”

“MacMillan? I haven’t seen him in years. Ok let’s check it out.”
"In a world where the dead are returning to life, the word "trouble" loses much of its meaning."
Kaufman - Land of the Dead

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Re: The Morrow Project: Destiny Is Yours

Post by bobturkee » Sun Nov 08, 2009 8:12 pm

Name: Michael Carter

Loose gravel debris crunched under their feet as the five man team crept close to the shadows of the old factory's wall. The subtle squelch of a voice operated microphone indicated that team was in place and ready to go. Pausing in a huddled mass as a corner entry to the compound one of the men pulled a telescoping mirror from his back. Extending the pencil sized diameter tube with the tiny reflective surface at the end, they peered around the corner. In the mirror the reflection of two men with AK-47's walking towards them about forty yards away filled the small viewing area. They patiently waited for the signal.

"Ok team six is in place. Go now!" crackled a voice across the static filled microphones.

The team sprung into action. One of the team members pulled out a small canister pulled the pin and tossed it around the corner and ducked back momentarily. There was a bright flash and a loud bang that seemed to stun the two approaching gunmen. The team quickly followed by scurrying around the corner; however, the third man in the chain tripped and tumbled over the second soldiers feet. He toppled forward, his weapon firing erratically as his fellow team members dove for cover. He finally landed half buried by a backpack that appeared half of his size. He tried to get to his feet, but clutched at his knee.

"Cut, cut, cut!" a man suddenly walks towards the team wearing blue jeans, a t-shirt, and baseball cap. "What is this shit? Are you fucking kidding me? The studio is spending millions of dollars to make this picture and you five idiots can't even shoot a simple scene? Do I need to hire another group of fucking imbeciles to handle this? Carter can you and Johnston get over here and advise these guys on how to be soldiers before I blow?"

A tall, muscular African American male walked across the set as over head stage lights kicked on. He wore black BDU's, combat boots, a utility belt with a few pouches, and a T-shirt that read "Terrorist Hunting License 9-11" with a picture of the twin towers. His hair was peppered with gray and cut in a high and tight wedge. A chewed cigar was pressed between his cheek and his teeth. His two hundred fifteen pound frame crunched as he stomped across the gravel strewn area.

"Look guys what the fuck happened?" he asked moving closer with a smile.

"I tripped over him. And this pack is just so heavy. I couldn't balance myself."

"Look Mr.DiCaprio. I understand. I fell out of the back of a HMMWV one time when we were in Afghanistan." The man reached down helping Leonardo up, "Let's just work through it so that Mr. Brown doesn't have a total shit fit."

"Thanks Carter," DiCaprio replied shaking the pain out of his knee.

"Maybe we could get you guys to tuck in a little closer," Carter began to work on their positioning as the scene was reset by production assistants scrambling around.

Out of sight a small golf cart with the producer, Brian Graizer, a driver, and a non-descript man in a black suit and sun glasses pulled to a stop. The three exited and the director quickly rushed over. The director, producer, and stranger huddled together for a few moments then pointed in the direction of Carter and the other actors. The man in the suit walked over across the set towards Carter. He paused as he approached.

"Michael Carter? Lieutenant Michael Carter Operation Enduring Freedom Iraq 2004, 2005, and 2006. Afghanistan 2001, 2006 and 2007. Somalia 2007. Philippines 2002. Then a bunch of other highly classified ops."

Carter looked up from fastening DiCaprio's backpack tighter and said, "You sure do know a lot about me. I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Joseph Storm. I represent a client who would be interested in meeting with you and utilizing your special services. I can assure you that you will be reimbursed generously for your time."

"I don't take private jobs."

"You were recommended by Colonel Edmunds. He is meeting with my client as we speak.."

"If he has Edmunds...what does he need me for? Edmunds is the best."

"Let's just say my client has the need for several people with your special skill sets and ethical fortitude."

"What is he putting together a private army?"

"I think discussion of the details would best be left between yourself and my client." Reaching inside his suit coat he pulls out an airline ticket. "If you are interested here is a ticket. It leaves for Hawaii on Friday for a very special meeting. There will be a car waiting for you at the airport. I hope to see you there."

"Thank you Mr.Storm. I'll take the offer into consideration."

"I think you'll make the right decision."
"In a world where the dead are returning to life, the word "trouble" loses much of its meaning."
Kaufman - Land of the Dead

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Re: The Morrow Project: Destiny Is Yours

Post by bobturkee » Sun Dec 06, 2009 9:23 pm

Name: Jolie Malone

"Five...Four...Three...Two...One...Fire."

A cacophony of explosions rang through the building in a tightly timed sequential fashion. Echoing through the downtown city streets the deafening roar of hundred of pounds of explosives sent birds flying for miles. The flash from inside each level of the building could be seen through the hollowed openings that use to house windows. In split seconds thick plumes of dust shot out from the lower floors as upper floors collapsed upon one another. Soon the exterior walls crumbled inward upon themselves once the inner supports were collapsed. In under ten seconds the entire fifteen story building was reduced to a four story pile of rubble. Cheers could be heard roaring from around the neighborhood as residents watched from the rooftops of surrounding buildings and elevated walkways.

Positioned in front of a small bright orange and yellow control panel was a tiny figure. The operator was standing barely five feet six inches tall, wearing dusty worn blue jeans with reinforced leather seat and knees, work boots, a T-shirt, a bright orange leather vest, a hard hat with glasses, and a pair of leather gloves. Suddenly leaping into the air the figure turned around revealing her shapely female form with an accompanying squeal!

"That was so much fun! I still get such a rush every time!"

"That's my little girl!" an older figure standing next to her said as he embraced the excited figure. "You did so good!"

"I learned it from the best!" she replied still squeaky with a true sound of excitement reverberating through her tone.

The tinted window sedan came to a skidding stop just a few feet from the operators control position. A tall, lean man wearing a dark suit, dark sunglasses, and a carrying a briefcase stepped out. He slowly walked, which really seemed more like a glide, towards the control team. "Excuse me are you Jolie Malone?"

"Yes," she said puzzeled.

"Can I help you sir?" her father said stepping up. "I'm Jack Malone of Malone Engineering. What interest do you have in my daughter."

"Sir if you'll give me a moment of your time. I think you'll find that I have an opportunity of a lifetime for someone of your daughter's special abilities. A PhD in Civil Engineering from UC Berkeley 2005 and since then have taken over as Chief Operations Officer for your family company Malone Engineering. Very impressive Ms. Malone. If you would consider meeting with my client this weekend in Hawaii, all expenses paid, I think you will find that his offer is more than favorable and in your particular interests."

"Why me?" she asked.

"Your families work has been used by my client previously on several occasions and they are very pleased with the quality of your work." The man opened the brief case and pulled out an airline ticket. "Please discuss this with your family and I hope that we will see you on the flight this weekend. Thank you for your time Ms. Malone."

The strawberry blonde looked curiously at the ticket in her hand. Her mind raced with several possibilities, but the thought of adventure beckoned her soul. "Guess I'm going to Hawaii this weekend Daddy!"
"In a world where the dead are returning to life, the word "trouble" loses much of its meaning."
Kaufman - Land of the Dead

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Re: The Morrow Project: Destiny Is Yours

Post by bobturkee » Tue Sep 21, 2010 8:42 pm

Name: Tony "Jackson" Jackson

Smoke hung heavily in the dimly lit room. Spot lights targeted stages where dancers spun and twirled about on poles. Breasts swaying from side to side as unabated women offered erotic visions of their goods for the right price. Hard thumping bass drove the rhythmic gyrations of the dancers and the smell of sex hung in the air like a heavy musk. Black, red, and a rainbow assortment of stray lights painted the interior of the club like a piece of Jackson Pollock's art with over-lapping hues fading into a warm glow.

The door to the club peaked open letting in a piercing beam of daylight for just a brief second. A neatly dressed man in a tailored suit walked in with one of the club's bouncers. Motioning over to a corner the bouncer pointed to a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and white slacks who was surrounded by six women who were pawing at him.

His hair was brushed back, but still wild. His hands were caressing the womanly curves of the girls closest to him; while other women rubbed at his shoulders and neck, subtly nudging him with their exposed breasts. He was laughing, engaged in conversation with the women about the various intricacies of their stage art. A glass of Jameson on the rocks flanked by an ashtray with a half burned cigar sat on the wooden table in front of his booth. A heavy five o'clock shadow covered his face, revealing a few days of not shaving. "Dance girls! Dance!" he yelled as two women climbed on the booth's table and started grinding to a heavy bass track.

"Excuse me," he said with no response. "Excuse me Mr. Jackson. Mr. Tony Jackson can I have a word with you?"

Looking over at the man in the suit he nudged in his direction and two women sudden leapt on him, pulling him down into the booth. "What can I do for you?" he laughed as a hot blonde between them nibbled on his neck. "I'm a little busy these days if this is a job offer."

"Let me assure you that this is more than just a mere job offer Mr. Jackson," the man said as a woman began to loosen his tie. He quickly swatted her hand away before she could complete the act and sneered at her with a polite smile. "This is a once in a lifetime offer. My name is Joseph Storm and I represent a client who would like to meet with you about this opportunity."

"You have my attention...keep talking..."
"In a world where the dead are returning to life, the word "trouble" loses much of its meaning."
Kaufman - Land of the Dead

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Re: The Morrow Project: Destiny Is Yours

Post by bobturkee » Sun Jan 01, 2012 9:45 pm

Team: Recon CA-45
Location: Team Bolthole
Time/Date: Sometime in the Future

It was warm, humid, and dark; the closest semblance to a maternal womb as one could experience as an adult. Her body felt heavy and non-responsive as she lay motionless in the cryogenic storage tube. During Project training they had called it a cryo for short, but that was currently the furthest thing from Amber's mind. Shrouded in a faltering haze of comma inducing drugs she began to try and focus her eyes on the soft green glow outside of her cryo tube. She could feel the irritation caused by the breathing tube still wedged down her throat. There was also the half dozen or so other entry points that the cryo tube machinery interfaced with her goose fleshed body. Her breathing and awareness both increased as she regained her cognitive faculties. With a soft hiss the lid of her cryo tube popped ajar allowing the warm, controlled air to escape and become replaced with the stale bottled air that was released into the bolthole.

The bolthole was what the Project designed to serve as covert underground storage facilities for teams and equipment. Each was equipped to support a group, their equipment, vehicles, and other supplies in a clandestine manner until they were "activated" by Prime Base for assistance in rebuilding after the "event" occurred. Each bolthole was similarly equipped with cryo tubes and personal equipment lockers, a basic computer interface to monitor readings from Prime Base and a periscoping device that analyzed the environmental situation outside the bolthole, a vehicle bay with fusion powered vehicles which could be activated using the bolthole's internal power supply, pallets of team equipment that are sealed using a special Project designed packaging, a personal emergency exit, and of course the bolthole exit controls which would trigger a shutdown of the bolthole thirty minutes after the vehicle bay door was activated.

In the cryo tube next to Amber was "Carter" who was having a very similar experience to his younger counterpart. On the opposite wall, aligned end to end with a narrow isle between them were the cryo tubes of Jolie "Joe" Malone and "Jackson". All of the team members were synchronized to wake up simultaneously; however, sometimes results varied based on individual physiological response time to the sedatives and wake up process. All of them seemed to be responding equally well as they pushed open the cryo tube lids and sat up. Immediately they began the process of "unplugging" from the sleep machines; starting with removal of the breathing tube which needed to be yanked out rapidly. With a tug it emerged from their throats covered with saliva and triggering a slight gagging response. With their eyes barely focusing, they shot relieved glances towards one another in the dim green hue of the bolthole interior. Gradually the light was becoming brighter, but it was still only enough to recognize the most prominent facial features of one another.

"That sucked," Carter whispered in a raspy voice clearing his throat and hacking up a large mouthful of phlegm.

Team members were dressed in the bare minimum and were soaking wet as they emerged from the warmth of the cryotube into the chill of the underground bolthole. Carter and Jackson had on gray boxer briefs; while Amber and Jolie wore an additional sports bra top that covered their breasts and was secured by an "x" strap around their neck. At this point, after training together for the better part of a year before storage, they were like family members with one another...modesty really was non-existent. There was; however, continuous flirting from Jackson towards his female colleagues during training. It just seemed to be part of his persuasive nature and one of the reasons Jackson was selected for the team.

Amber was the first to get her sea-legs and step out of her cryotube. As she stepped out and let out a big stretch Jackson commented, "Ahhh...sleeping beauty awakens." He paused smiling then proceeded to begin a monologue, "Sweet princess, if through this wicked witch's trick, a spindle should your finger prick....a ray of hope there still may be in this, the gift I give to thee. Not in death, but just in sleep, the fateful prophecy you'll keep. And from this slumber you shall wake, when true love's kiss, the spell shall break."

As Amber bent over retrieving her pants from the cryo tube storage locker she looked back over her shoulder, "Really? Sleeping Beauty? Is that the best you got?" She let out a flirtatious little laugh; perhaps still driven by the narcotics metabolizing in her system.

"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night," Jackson started; but, was quickly interrupted by Carter.

"Ok love birds let's save that Shakespeare shit till we get things operational. Then you two can frolic through the meadows or whatever. You know the drill," Carter said, "get suited up and let's get the computer online to see what Prime has to say. Our two hour evacuation countdown started once our lids popped. We probably have a ninety minute window left to get our asses in gear. Morrow didn't give us this opportunity to work on our stage presence..." Carter paused, "...we have to save the world," he laughed.
"In a world where the dead are returning to life, the word "trouble" loses much of its meaning."
Kaufman - Land of the Dead

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