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The Thread: Scrap Pile
By Parteepants

It’s been a while since the last one, so here’s a rules “refresher":

1. If you’re interested in writing the next section, please come to the forum named, “The Thread: Scrap Pile,” and leave a note. This is to avoid having two or more writers working on the same section. You could say something like, “I’m gonna do the part after Beckett Grey.”

2. Keep you sections to around 500 words. I’d like many people to be able to participate, and this should enable it.

3. End your section with the characters on the verge of an “event.” This will make it easier for the next writer to pick up where you left off.

4. Follow the characteristics that have been established for characters. If in one section “Johnny” has blonde hair, then he should still have blonde hair in your part too.

5. Do not post comments in the comments box. That space is for the continuation of the story. If you wish to leave comments, please do so at the forum.

6. Above all else, have fun, be creative, and get involved!

Thank you. Now on with the story.


The Scrap Pile


As the gray ship nears the small yellow planet, another fist strikes Hank’s chin causing red fluid to spray from his broken lips. The two police officers assigned to this transport have used their travel time to pay back old debts, and Hank’s face is running out of currency. His left eye is swelling shut, his nose is smashed flat against his face, and several teeth wiggle freely.

With his hands bound to the pole behind him, Hank has been defenseless against their beating. Fatigued, he lets his chin slump to his chest, and gravity drags his blood down his bare torso. While the guards have taken a small break to have a drink and to discuss their captive’s drop off point, Hank surveys his surroundings. He is located in the prison transport’s holding bay, which is an open area with numerous poles mounted in a circular pattern to the floor and ceilings. The poles can rotate so the prisoners can be moved closer the door. Hank’s tattered shirt lies on the floor about a yard from his feet. The officers have brought a cooler of a possibly alcohol tainted beverage, which is completely against regulations, but so is beating their ward to a pulp. Otherwise, this section is empty.

Hank has never been a straight arrow, and as a result, he has had many run-ins with the law. Peter Bailey and Thomas Smolley have suffered numerous embarrassments at Hank’s hands, and the bad blood between them is common knowledge, which is probably why they were assigned this duty. It wasn’t bad enough that the hypocrite judge had sentenced him to the small, penal planet called the “Scrap Pile,” but someone had wanted ensure that he was properly tenderized upon arrival. This is more proof that Hank has made some powerful enemies.

With the drop point selected and radioed to the pilot, Peter Bailey returns his attention to Hank. He pulls his pants up his widening hips, and asks, “You’ve heard of the scrap pile haven’t you, Hank?”

“Of course,” Hank responds, but he cannot leave well enough alone. “I also heard your wife gives good head.”
Peter’s eyes glare angrily for a second then they soften and he says, “I’m not going to loose my cool, Hank. No mistakes from me. I promise.” But Thomas isn’t as reserved and he fires a right hook into Hank’s ribs. The impact cases blood to spray in all directions, and Hank to slump against his restraints.

“Thanks, Tom,” Peter states. “But where this assholes going, …well…there’s nothing we could do to him that’d be worse. Let me refresh your memory, Hank. The scrap pile isn’t just a prison planet. Nope, it’s also a military and civilian test zone. Any Frankenstein wanna be who wants to test out his new Mech toys, or gene spliced monster, …why, …they just drop ‘em off here. Hell, there’s herds of monsters you’ve only dreamed of in your nightmares.”

The ship begins to slow and the door opening behind Hank causes warm air to flood the compartment. The officers spin Hank on the pole so that he is facing outward. The planet is nearly invisible through the thick fog blanket, but strange noises are not barricaded. The guards tie Hank’s torn shirt around his waist, and un-cuff his hands. With the ship still twenty feet above ground, they try to push him outward, but Hank had grabbed hold of the pole. With his progress is stopped, Hank uses the opportunity to kick his heel backward to strike Peter’s leg below the knee. The sound of his leg breaking fills the transport as Hank dives into the fog and the dangers that are waiting for him.


------
If you have no questions or fears about your abilities, then you will learn nothing from your mistakes and know nothing about your limitations.


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Comments

The following comments are for "The Thread: Scrap Pile"
by Richard Dani

.
He fell for an unknown length of time- it could have been days, for all he knew- and came to rest atop a midden heap. The stench was unbelievable. Hank gagged, vomited, and clutched helplessly at his stomach. He hadn't eaten much in the last few days, and the backwash of butyric acid burned his throat. It also stank to high hell, but his nose had started burning and stopped smelling the filth around him at the same time, so he didn't mind quite as much.

He pushed himself up as best he could on a pile of what, for all intents and purposes, was shit waiting to degenerate, and looked around.

The area was blanketed by fog, but Hank thought he could make out the tall smudge of the west wall, off to his right. To his left, a great deal of fog and the very faint sound of running water. Ahead of him, more midden. Behind him...behind him!

He whirled around, wincing as his leg protested, and met the eyes of a skinny old man. Or rather, met the eye. Most of the right half of the man's body was curiously melted, and the eye on that side of his face was covered by a grungy black patch.

He grinned, showing a few desperate teeth. "Hey there, Fish. Welcome to the Pile. Also known as The Pile of Shit, the Pigpile, What I Wouldn't Give For a Pile Of Roast Beef, and OhFuck. You'll be wanting to get that leg set 'afore it bends out of shape. That happens, the doctors 'ud have to re-break it 'afore they could fix it. And there ain't much in the way of doctors here. Whaddya sittin' on that heap of shit for, boy? We've got work to do.

Hank began to painfully drag himself off the man-made hill, employing a kind of half-crabwalk to save his leg any further abuse.

He reached the bottom, rolled painfully over, and looked at the old stranger for assistance. Instead of helping him, however, the man began to walk off, apparently uninterested in him.
"Hey, wait!" his own voice sounded hoarse in his ears.
"Don't fret, fish. I'm not goin' anywhere." The old man stooped down, plucked two pieces of wood from a nearby scrap pile, and sauntered back. "Use these t' set your leg, fer now. Ain't much, but it beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick." He laughed uproariously.
"That it does, I guess." Hank began to undo his shoelaces. "Name's Hank, by the way, not fish."

The old man appeared to consider this. "Nawp," he said. "Until you learn the ways of the Pile, your name's fish, lad. On the other hand, you can call me Paw. Everyone else does."

"Paw, what's the-." A hard, heavy thud began resonating from behind the west wall.

( Posted by: Beckett Grey [Member] On: January 1, 2002 )

pt III
The sound rises to a thuderous cresendo, then fades into a rolling echo.
"That'd be the dinner bell for the Lords of the Feast." Paw mutters, his eyes darting about.
"Who?" Hank asks.
"The Lords of the Feast, boy, are a cult of flesh eaters. Food shipments to the Pile aren't that
regular so the Lords have made a sport out of hunting people." Paw gaze darts around frantically.
"we'd best get under some cover and away from here, that dropship might as well have said 'free lunch'."

imbued with a new sense of urgency, Hank takes the two wood stakes and sets his leg into a crude splint.
Then digging through the heap of refuse he scrounges up a deformed piece of steel to use as a crutch.

"Put some fire into your step, boy" the old man grumbles already inching toward the near by woodline.

Agony shoots through Hanks leg as he rises, but a greater need overides his desire to rest. With an effort he's up
and moving with an erractic hop drag. Hank keeps his eyes fixed on Paw, as the old man passes the the first few trees into the cover of the woods.

"Hold up old man!" Hank growls,
"If you don't get your ass under some cover boy, you won't live to be old." the reply floats out from the trees,
Paw having already faded from view.

Hank picks up his pace, his breathe coming in tortures rasps. Pain doing its best to steal conciousness from him.
Eventually the first branches of the forest cover him as he enters the wood.

Hands grasp at Hank from both sides as he colapses on the edge of the woodline, momentary panic sets in, he begins to struggle
but the vise like grips are to much for him to overcome.

"Peace, boy, Peace" Paws voice is hushed, but close by, "These are my boys, Paul and Phillip."

Hank relaxes his body, as one of the young men scoops him into a firemans carry.

"We've wasted to much time," Hank hears Paw speaking to the boys "Paul, you take him to camp, me'n Phillip are gonna set a false trail for the Lords."

Hanks feels the head of his carrier nod in reply then they're off, his body be jostled on the back of the large youth.
He watches in the distance as Paw and Phillip take off in the opposite direction.

( Posted by: kross [Member] On: January 1, 2002 )

pt IV
Paul passed Hank a small plate of food. Mostly scraps, but Hank wasn't complaining. Pall passed him some water that had more floaties in it than a toilet, and a small moldy piece of bread. Hank nodded, and sat up to the plate. He could barely move. He was sore all over. He could hardly chew, his jaw still bruised.

"Eat, fish, you'll need your strength. I can tell you're no stranger to how things work. This place is nothing but trouble, so if you want to survive, I suggest you eat every chance you get. No telling when the next time will be." Paul said, as he ate from his own plate of aging scraps.

Paul finished chewing the last bite and wiped his mouth. He took down some of the water before he spoke.

"Thanks. I'm sure everyone asks, but has anyone made it off this rock?"

"Not since I've been here. I've just been here a few months myself. But you pick things up real quick. Paw took me in and showed me around the place. I don't think I would have made it with out the old bastard. By the looks of it, neither would you. But to answer your question, I do hear rumors of people getting off. Some sort of underground. But you gotta be real careful in this place. Everyone's looking out for themselves. People like Paw are rare. I mean, think about it, this is a place for the most rotten criminals you can imagine. What else would you expect from them?"

Paul reached for his plate, shoveling in some more grub.

Hank took a deep breath. The food wasn't any good, but it sure hit the spot. He hadn't eaten in days. He leaned back, for the first time in a while, even relaxed a little. He knew it never lasted, so he tried to sneak as many peaceful moments in as he could. You just never knew when the next would have you blazing through the galaxy to god knows where. This time though, he'd ended up where no one even want's to think about. He'd been in some tough spots before, running drugs and guns for the Matosa Family. Hank was wishing he'd never crossed them now. He might not be in this mess at all. They had the power to get him out of jail, probably even arrange for the charges to "vanish". But when you nail a crime bosses daughter and then she catches you in bed with her best friend. Well my friend, that's how you end up in a shit hole like this.

Hank nearly dozed off, but a sudden clanking sound started him. He jerked up right, banging his leg on the wooden table.

"Keep it down damnit" Paul wispered firmly.

Hank could hear hard footsteps around, and the sound of metal rubbing together.

( Posted by: Chrispian [Admin] On: January 7, 2002 )

Part 5
Hank and Paul attempt to sit still despite the sound of footsteps drawing near and for the first time, Hank notices the disgusting reality of their camp.

“How hadn’t I noticed it before?” Hank asks himself quizzically.

Perhaps he was more tired than he realized or maybe the promise of food had hypnotized him or possibly his broken leg hurt so damn bad he wouldn’t have noticed a naked supermodel bathing herself. Regardless of the reason he had ignored the fact that their camp is really a cave burrowed into a mountain of garbage that included: jagged metal pipes, tree limbs, machine sections, robotic body parts that resemble the human variety, natural body parts that are the human variety (such as skeletons), and a brown material that seems to be gluing it all together. Hank would like to assume it’s mud, but it’s smell certainly suggests something else.

Through the gaps of a ribcage's metal replica, he sees a shadowy figure stomp by, and the sheer size of the beast makes Hank’s intestines quiver. It appeares to be at least 9 feet tall and as thick as most automobiles. From its shoulders, there are three protrusions that seem to waver about on long snake-like necks. The details of each head are impossible to deduce due to the darkness that seems to be creeping up on their camp.

Hank leans closer to Paul and whispers, “What the hell is that?”

Paul’s eyes glisten with fear as he quietly responds, “A scavenger for the Lords of the Feast.”

The thing stomps near the cave’s opening and the sound of a dog sniffing fills the air. Then on its long serpentine neck, a wolf’s head enters. It is covered in gray fur that is wet around the mouth from its excessive drool. This canine head sniffs the air and bares it’s four inch long teeth that appear to be metal and serrated. It’s red eyes focus on Hank, who is frozen with fear and hoping that Paw comes through with his “distraction” before the rest of this monster enters the cave.

( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: January 8, 2002 )

Part 6
It slid its' head into the cave mouth. The ridged metallic spikes that composed its spine grated across the roof. It smiled, if such a monster could be said to smile, and opened its jaw. Out slid its' tongue, a segmented strand of razor-sharp plates. Nine feet long and prehensile like a tail, it whipped out at Hank, who cringed back against the cave wall in terror.

The beast pushed itself further inside, causing a minor avalanche of garbage outside. Its' thin, watery drool hissed as it hit the ground. Hank screamed, kicking wildly at the things' snout and praying to any deity that would listen to give him just a little more time. Just a little. 'I don't want to die in the middle of a heap of shit, eaten by some creature I don't even know the name for. C'mon, please, give me a little leeway here...'

From outside there came a loud metallic squeal. The beast paused, an odd look of contemplation on its' wolfish face, then abruptly vomited a huge gout of thin, oily fluid. It collapsed, its' eyes rolling back to the whites, tongue lolling to and fro. 'Thank you, whomever that was,' thought Hank. 'Thank you.'

A figure appeared at the lip of the cave.

( Posted by: Beckett Grey [Member] On: January 9, 2002 )

Part 7
As Hank regained his composure and focused his eyes he saw the man standing in the entrance of the cave was wearing a uniform much like the guards who had dropped him here.

"Is one of you Hank Porter?" The figure asked

"Who wants to know?" Hank asked fearing more abuse at the hands of the guards.

"Don't bull shit me, we have precious little time, in case you don't realize it there are others like that nearby" The man said as he gestured in the direction of the wolf like creature lying dead on the ground.

"I'm Hank Porter." Hank volunteered, unsure of whether or not it was the right thing to do, but certain that he didn't want to face another one of these creatures.

"Goo then let's get the fuck out of here, before it's too late."

"What about me?" Paul said from the back of the cave.

"Come if you must, but hurry!"

The three men moved from the cave, Hank pulling up the rear, face grimaced from the pain eminating from his leg. As they made their way through the piles of garbage surrounding the cave, Hank could hear the sounds of other horrible monsters approaching. They seemed to be closing in on them from every direction. They struggled, to move faster, but the terrain seemed to be working against them.

Paul stopped suddenly, "Hey, whoever you are, in case you haven't noticed the other scavengers are closing in on us and I think you better charge up that gun of yours or were gonna be fucked!"

The man stopped abruptly turning around. Hank thought the look on his face wasn't good.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm well aware of the situation and WE are not fucked my friend...YOU are fucked!"

With that said, the man in the uniform leveled his gun at Paul and squeezed the trigger. Hank watched in astonishment as a small ball of yellowish, green light emitted from the end of the gun. The ball traveled quickly to Paul's chest them seemed to hover in front of him. It began to move up and down his body as if searching for an opening. Paul stood eerily still as if aware of what was happening, but powerless to stop it. As the ball of light approached his face, it apparently found it's mark in his left nostril. It hesitated for a brief second then slammed into the opening.

Paul's eyes showed white as they rolled back into his head. Hank saw the dark oily substance that had ran from the Scavengers mouth begin to roll out of Paul's mouth, he shook a bit and then fell to the ground with a thump.

"Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you do that, that guy saved my life earlier!" Hank protested madly.

"He may very well save your life again in throwing the Scavengers off our trail, or at least slowing them down a bit." With that the man said nothing more, but turned and moved out leaving Paul dead in a heap and Hank still wondering what the fuck just happened.

Hank quickly snapped back to his senses when he heard another growl from a Scavenger, this time noticeably closer. He shook his head and took off in the direction of the stranger.

The two men walked on for a time without speaking. The uniformed man moving ahead and then waiting for the slower Hank to limp his way to where he stood. He would then set off again, only to wait again. And so it went for some time. As Hank caught up to the man near a gathering of trees on the edge of a great plain, he winced at the growing pain in his leg.

"Listen buddy, I can't go on much longer, my leg's busted up pretty good and besides...you haven't even told me where we're going or even who the fuck you are?" Hank said with as much machismo as he could muster.

"Fine" the man said "Let's find a little shelter in these trees and I'll explain the whole thing."

( Posted by: Jeff [Member] On: January 10, 2002 )

Part 8


They made it to the trees unobserved. Hank immediately crumpled to the ground. He crawled to a tree and propped himself up against it, all the while staring at the uniformed man.

"They told me you were a tough guy Hank. Are you? You sure don't look it."

"I'm tough enough. This busted up leg didn't slow me down that much. Now tell me what the deal is like you said you would. And don't make it a novel, the short version will do just fine."

"Your three friends back there were fattening you up for supper Hank, did you know that? They had an arrangement with the Lords of the Feast. They get the bones when the Lords are done with you, makes for a nice stew I hear. Tastes something like chicken they say."

Hank shuddered at the thought of screaming like a lobster being boiled alive. He wanted to tell the man thanks for saving him, but it was against his nature to be nice. "Well I guess I won't be sending them Christmas cards then. Who're you and what's your part in this?"

"I'm here to save your ass Hank."

"Oh really? I can think of better ways to spend my Sunday afternoon, can't you? Did Pete and Tom send you down here to make sure I was sufficiently handicapped? Fuck this world and those assholes who put me here... and everyone who looks like them..."

The man tossed Hank a med kit. "Look in there and you'll find some pain killers, take them first. Then we'll shoot the Nano's in. I don't know about you, but I hate the way they feel inside of you, chewing up your broken parts and shitting out good, clean healthy tissue... Your leg isn't that bad, should only take a few minutes to rebind the bone..."

While the Nano's did their medicine dance routine up and down the inside of Hanks leg, the man finally told him what was going on. His name was John Pratt, and he was a mercenary.

"You've got friends in high places Hank. Anthony doesn't waste his resources on just anybody you know. The Matosa Family could afford the company of a dozen goons better than you. But Anthony Matosa's daughter doesn't want a dozen better, she wants you. And what Mattie Matosa wants, she gets."

"So Anthony's going to spring me after all?" Hank asked Pratt. "I thought Mattie wanted my nuts served to her on a silver platter?"

"She wasn't mad at you for doin' her girlfriend Hank. She was mad at her girlfriend for doin' it with a man instead of her. They had this thing goin' on between them you see? Anyway, it's all set up, we have to be at the extraction zone in forty five minutes. It's only about two miles over that..."

SWISH!! Plop...

Hank heard the noise and looked up from his leg he was trying to rub some circulation into just as John Pratt's dismembered head came rolling to a stop up against his foot...

( Posted by: The Hal [Member] On: January 11, 2002 )

pt 9
**************************************************

Mattie paced about the room chewing her nails. That arrogant Son of a Bitch, John Pratt should have made it to The Pile by now and if all went as planned she should be getting a TransCom any second now telling her that her baby was safe. Then she'd rip his fucking heart out herself. Nobody pulled that kind of shit on anybody in the Matosa family, nobody.
She glanced casually over at the nightstand, where upon rested an elegant pair of silver earrings. This was the only trace of that bitch girlfriend of hers left. At least she'd tried hard to make ammends before Mattie had her goons disintegrate her an one inch at a time. She quivered at the memory of last night. She'd tried real hard....

"Mistress Matosa." the voice carried the flat electronic sound of a TransCom boosted signal.

Shaken out of her reverie, Mattie replied, "Yes?"

"The Dark Crow has circled for it's intitial pickup sweep, but the beacon has not been activated." the faint sound of static, common with such long range communications, hissed as the commander waited for his Mistress's commands.

"Give that asshole Pratt 15 more cycles then drop a shadow team in," She replied after a lengthy silence. "I don't want Hank slipping away from me after such a costly investment."

"Yes, Mistress." A slight pop follewd the reply as the TransCom disconnected.

Mattie walked over to the nightstand and retrieved the earrings.
"oh, well," she sighed, "I guess she won't be needing these..." She let the comment trail off as she place the silver hoops into hear ears.

**************************************************

Hank had slipped the pistol out of John's holster before the body even hit the ground. One didn't survive long in the Matosa family with out the ability to think fast in a crisis. What came next was instinct, not thought and that was probably what saved his ass.

( Posted by: kross [Member] On: January 12, 2002 )

Scrap Pile: Part 10
Hank rolled quickly to his right and narrowly avoided the blade that had beheaded John Pratt.

Standing before him was another of the Scavengers, but this time Hank could see all three of the monster’s heads clearly. Two wolf heads danced on elongated rubber necks. Their canine maws dripped acidic drool that burnt the ground while they growled in Hank’s direction.

However, it was the middle head that Hank paid attention to. It had a face of a very fat man with jowls that hung down below his jawbone. The top of its skull was decorated with a few strands of white hair that swayed like brush in a breeze. The monster’s two ebony eyes gazed at Hank with cold determination as it mumbled something about “fresh meat to eat.”

In it’s massive hands the beast held a giant sickle whose long crescent blade was colored with Pratt’s blood. The scavenger stepped toward Hank and swung the blade with dreadful intentions. The weapon whistled as it cut the air.

Hank ducked and dived to the monster’s left. Hank tried desperately to aim his weapon, but again the sickle came flying at him. Hank needed distance, but it took him five steps to equal one of his attacker’s.

This repeated ducking, diving and rolling was wearing Hank down and the blade was getting closer to its mark.

Whoosh! The blade cut across his thighs tearing his pants and flesh alike. Hank fell onto his back and the beast stood above him. Drool dripped onto Hank’s belly and it burnt him like a cigarette. Hank blocked out the pain, and raised the pistol. As the sickle raced towards his neck, Hank squeezed the trigger and the yellow ball shot out at the scavenger freezing him and his blade inches from Hank’s skin.

The orb danced around the creature seeking an opening and found it in one of the wolf head’s nostrils into which it disappeared and the monster began to topple in Hank’s direction. Hank summoned the remainder of his energy and rolled to his right. He barely avoided being crushed beneath the falling beast that crashed face down and vomited something black and oily.

Hank stood upright and tried to catch his breath when he noticed two things. The Nano’s that healed his bones also mended the flesh of his thighs, and his weapon was blinking to indicate that it was low on energy.

“Great,” he said as he headed for Pratt’s headless body and the pack that was still attached to it. He dug through it and found a small amount of rations, a beacon and an incubator, but no cells for his weapon.

“Fuck!” he cursed while he carried the flat square incubator towards Pratt’s head. He flipped it open so that it resembled an old laptop computer. But on the space that would have had a keyboard, only three silver prongs emerged. Hank picked up the severed head and mounted its bloody neck to the prongs. Then, he pressed the small red button on the incubator’s side, and almost instantly Pratt’s head came to life.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” the head screamed either in pain or from the realization it no longer possessed a body. Either way, Hank was going to find out this prick’s intentions if he had to scoop his eyes out with a spoon.

“Twenty four hours,” Hank said. “That’s how long this thing can keep you alive. That’s a lot of time to talk, to think or to suffer if you ask me.”

“Fuck you!” Pratt’s head shouted.

“I need answers shit head and you know damn right well you’re gonna give’em to me. So, rather than have me peel the skin from your cheek bones, why don’t you just calm down and loosen up that tongue.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m already here,” Hank responded. “But yours is just about to begin. The blood that’s leaking out of your neck is drawing some kind of insect from the ground and they look hungry if you ask me.”

As one of the long black things squirmed up Pratt’s cheek, the head started to scream, “Get it off of me! Get it off of me! I’ll tell ya anything you wanna know just get this damned leach thing off of me.”

“Actually, I think I’ve changed my mind. I doubt you’ll be able to tell me anything I haven’t already figured out. Mattie’s pissed and she wants my bells sautéed in a skittle. Big deal!”

“It’s worse than that! Much worse. AAAHHHHH! it burns,” John’s head bellowed as it shook left and right in a lame attempt to dislodge the black worm that was eating his face. “Listen, you’ll be dead long before I am if you don’t ….AAAAHHHH….







( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: January 13, 2002 )

Scrap Pile: Part 11
....Have me with you at the extraction zone." "They can fix me you know...just gt me there." John's head tried to take a reasonable stance (hard to do when you're basically a head on a stick) "The guys on the transport don't know you from shit...you don't think any other fucks will be running at the transport when they see it land?" "Please just get this fucking thing off my face and we can work something out!"

Hank watched with some pleasure as the worm pulled small strips of flesh from John's face. Maybe it was sadistic, or maybe it was just the feeling of control he had lost since he hooked up with that bitch. Either way, the smile felt good on his lips. His leg too was starting to feel a whole lot better.

"Sorry John...As you said, I've only got a few minutes to make it to the transport and dragging you're fucking head and body all over the place would just slow me down." "Besides, the transport is here for me...I really doubt they give a shit about the likes of you anyway." Hank stood up and without a second thought kicked the John's head from its perch. The life quickly flooded from his face and he lay silent again.

Hank reached down, holding the head in place with one hand he jammed his index finger into the heads eye socket. He heard a wet sucking sound as he pulled the eyeball from it's resting place. Pinching off the various bits of flesh holding the eyeball in place, Hank stuffed it in his pocket. "That'll do the trick, if they don't have you're DNA imprint on file, they'll surely have your retinal scan." Hank said to himself.

He had turned to leave, then thought better of it. He turned back towards John's headless body. Moving his foot next to the boot of his body, he thought it looked close. Pulling the boots from the body, he replaced his own worn boots with the ones John would no longer be needing...a perfect fit. "Maybe this wasn't turning out to be such a bad day after all." Hank thought.

Hank moved out in the general direction he thought the transport would be waiting for him. He could still hear the growling sounds of the near bye scavengers although he wasn't sure exactly where they were. He hugged closely to the trees wherever he could as he made his way. With his leg feeling better than it had before the break, he was moving at a much faster pace. Covering a great deal of ground in a little time. He had a plane to catch and he was gonna be on it! Hank would deal with what was waiting for him back home when the time came.

He slowed as he began to hear voices ahead. He approached cautiously and saw three men sitting in a circle in a small clearing. Hank had no intention of messing with these three as he had come to learn that trust was not a word used on this planet. He circled to the left, intending on passing the group altogether when one of them called to him by name.

"Hank..."

( Posted by: Jeff [Member] On: January 14, 2002 )

thread
yo, hey, what duh. when am i up? clairesbest said to check the last comment in the scrap pile but i don't see it. panic

mercer102

( Posted by: mercer102 [Member] On: July 26, 2004 )

next section
I want to do the part after Scrap Pile 11.


Thanks
Pascal

( Posted by: Pascal [Member] On: August 17, 2005 )

Scrap Pile: Part 12
"Hank..."
"Hank..."

Hank is trying to look in the direction the voice is coming from and running in the opposite direction, he recognizes the voice, it can't be he tells himself. Hank's heart is racing as fast as he is, he can hear it running toward him. Hank's running and crying, "I saw you die", he yells.

It calls him again "Hank". Hank tries to run faster, but is almost out of breath. He takes a sharp right turn and hides behind a large pile of feces and metal. Hank covers his mouth to silence his breathing, as he slowly moves forward and peaks around the edge. There's no one. Ready for anything to appear, Hank holds his pistol high. He turns to make his way down his NEW path.

Hank is surprised by the last person he wanted to see, "AAAAAAHHHH, mother-fucker I saw you die" with his cocked pistol aimed directly at his enemy's face. Looking at the gun and at Hank, the man quickly states, "I can explain."

Hank interupts:"Explain what? What the fuck you gonna say?"

"We're robotic clones."

Hank shakes his head, "Mother-fucker! What do you mean we,... ain't nobody here but you and me." Taking the only chance he has left, the man begins again with his explaination.

"We are robotic clones."

"Ain't no such thing, I got your eye in my pocket, you fuck'n bitch," yells Hank.

"Hank," replies the man in a low calm voice, "We are all called John Pratt."

Suddenly, Hank hears more footsteps approaching and to his atonishment more John Pratts appear.

( Posted by: Pascal [Member] On: August 18, 2005 )

My Inaugural Address on Judgment Day
My inaugural address at the Great White Throne Judgment of the Dead, after I have raptured out billions!

At: http://www.angelfire.com/crazy/spaceman/

Your jaw will drop!

( Posted by: SecretRapture [Member] On: November 7, 2005 )





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