Quagmire, Lions Dream In Gold [best free ebook reader for pc TXT] 📗

engine, he liked to see their brains leap to life, the effect to his cause. Still though, being a good liar was the only reason the military hadn't killed him yet. The only reason that he was here now. Chained to the floor in a small, steel room. The heavy chains forcing him to bow on his knees to the unopened door. The unforgiving cement hard on his aching knee's.
"Just because my knees aren't what they used to be does not

mean that i am getting old! Its that damn injury, and nothing

else!"
"Hey Doggie" A mean spirited voice sneered at him, "Shut da' fuck up."
Russel looked at the delinquent from the corner of his eyes. "Brat." He muttered bitterly. The other boy on side just snickered at him.
"Just remember it was you who asked ta' be here."
Ah yes, there is that.

That was why he was currently in the depths of the rats nest that was Ace Corporation's Headquarters. Why he was currently locked in the headquarters of one of gangland's most notorious overlords. The military had always known of his specific...skill. Always hinting but never squishing it out of him like they had with so many others.
He had always assumed it was because of his family. Four generations of military service, each generation reaching at least as far as colonel. His own father a Brigadier General and still rising. Russel had always assumed it had been because of his family. But when he been called into his commanders office and lead to one of the "Clean Rooms", a room devoid of any of the undetectable recording bugs; a room that technically didn't exist, he'd found out how very wrong he was.
The military had been having trouble with the so called "Gangs" for as long as he could remember. Ever since they had all gotten smart and made their delinquent alliances "legal" by making them into corporations, Businesses. Any gang that actually meant something took on the name Corporation.
Their logos were everywhere: BlueBird inc., Whitecap inc., JaX inc., Japa inc., etc. They were everywhere. The big-shots, with their names engraved onto almost everything. They ran the world when the military just ran around pretending they could. Therein lied the issue. The military needed that control otherwise anarchy would ensue. Tearing down the newly rebuilt world order.
This was the way the world had been for the last three decades. Every culture known to man had been combined and separated into three different levels. The military ruled, a class unto themselves, the highest level of people, the good guys...so they said. They ruled obsessively it seemed. Monitoring what the haloscreens could show. Everything on the internet was meticulously censored. There was no religion, only the military's word, which was law, which was the only law that mattered. The message was simple: The military was god.
Then there were the Streetwalkers. The average, everyday, citizens. The keystone of the economy. So long as they didn't do anything deemed too disruptive they were usually left alone.
Finally there was the last level, The Underworld, also known as permano rebelous, or even as the Gates of Hell. No one who didn't belong to the Corporations went down there. Not if they wanted to live. Especially if you were military, the most hated scum to the stone hearted anarchists. This, posed a problem. One that Russel was supposedly, going to fix, whether he liked it or not.
Russel sighed under his breath, "This sucks."
"You think this sucks now?" The second boy spoke again, this time amusement leaking into his words. " Jus' you wait 'till the Boss gets here." He giggled maniacally. The first boy laughing eagerly as well "Dude your Doomed!" The both of them bursting with uncontrolled glee.
Just then the door slammed open with a fierce metal bang.
"So glad you boys think this is funny." A deep voice boomed from the menacing maw of the now open doorway. A giant monolith of a man standing where the door used to be. 'oh Hell,'

the only thought Russel was able to process. 'I'm Screwed!'

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Publication Date: 01-24-2012

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