The agents sat in the cabin drinking coffee, and smoking cigarettes, the door opened, and the two agents entered the room. Cindy Larris and Dan Parker.
Dan grimaced at the small number of agents that were in the room seven. Seven men were all that had come in. Jesus. He knew it was bad, but he never thought it was this bad. The country was certainly in deep shit.
“Okay-people, it appears that you are it you all know why you’re here.”
“Dan is this just to revamp the Company, or is it also about that family that was killed six months ago?”
“We going to deal with them, the way we would any other scumbag, or is there going to be trials and all that liberal shit?” the same man asked.
“We’re known as the Cleaners Paul, not the goddamn Boy Scouts. What they did was so beyond sick, they’re no better than the rest of the trash. I could buy the possibility that a mistake was made, I mean Taylor and Tyler, and the street numbers being the same. But they weren’t suppose to go in and kill anyone that had been a direct order.”
“I know who crushed the baby’s skull,” Richard said softly. “and that son of a bitch is mine. I don’t want to hear no goddamn bullshit either.”
“Here’s the rules people, we all know who is dirty, you find them and you take them out. There’s to be no bodies found.”
“What about that other group?” a young man asked.
“I’m not sure of your name son.”
“Daniel with any kind of luck. . . that other group will pick a side.”
“Pick a side sir?”
Dan smiled and lit up a cigar. “Yes. Pick a side, I have a feeling that this shit-storm, is nothing compared to what is coming our way. We’re going to need every advantage possible.” he smiled and blew the smoke upward. “Recruitment.”
That’s the way of the government, they recruit, they entice, and they even force a person to join their ranks. There are ways they can do this: They can threaten, promise excitement, adventure, or kidnap and subject a person to certain experiments they feel that they have perfected.
Of course in later years they’ll deny that there ever any such programs known as MK-ULTRA. Mind control. The very idea that they could take a normal person and with a word or phrase change them into a stone cold killer.
That’s comic book stuff, that’s how some writers make their living by writing such things. They’ll go on and on denying it, swearing that there is no such program. Maybe they think it doesn’t count if they had their fingers crossed.
When it comes to the government they know of no boundaries, if it’s to meet a goal then that’s what they’ll do, and any and all innocent bystanders are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral Damage
But of course when they go about addressing the public, they raise their voices in outrage and swear that this outrage will not go unpunished.
Yes. The government, is a very perverted organization and they have zero compassion for the people. They just want to keep their power they stole by falsely representing themselves. They must remain powerful and in charge, how else can they keep their godlike powers to pick and choose who gets to live, or who has to die.
The government hates the writers of the world because they challenge the people to think, some encourage them to have free thoughts. They all must be stopped.
Things are really getting sticky these days, I haven’t even had much time to write in this journal. I figured if the worst were to happen, at least my family would know where my thoughts were.
I do think about them a lot more, than I probably should. I should try to stay focused on the problems at hand, but more and more people just keep coming in. Some of them, I’d personally like nothing more, than to send packing.
Goddamn redneck racist assholes. If I knew I could get away with it, I would have shot them, and dropped them in a very deep fucking hole.
Work has taken sort of a backseat, I still draw a paycheck and the pay is damn good. In fact, I’m now drawing two hundred dollars more a week. I found out today that the boss is behind us one hundred percent, that there also never was any problems with equipment. We’re on the payroll as his personal army.
Told you I hadn’t had much time to write, for the past few weeks we’ve all been sort of laid off. But our wages have still been being paid.
Foreman said that the boss was pissed at himself for being so shortsighted and not seeing this coming. So until, the problem was fixed, we’d all still draw our wages.
One of the men came in about ten minutes ago, and told me what he’d learned. Our so-called boss is paying us fighting wages, he has put a bounty on a selected group of people. It would seem that they’d grabbed his daughter, during one of our campaigns, she was able to escape. Now all he wants of us is for us to fight, and we can continue to draw our wages.
Do I feel ashamed for taking money for such acts. . ? Not one damn bit. I’m taking care of my family, I send some to that bank we’d discussed and I keep putting money back. There are also places that we can go to if we’re hungry.
Places that are under orders to feed us, and to see to our needs, one of the men got hurt. . . hurt bad. Luckily he made it to one of the safe houses and some young Italian lady took care of him.
Her husband had been killed, by a group of men claiming to be government agents. I guess that’s highly possible, there are agents everywhere. Some of these assholes I wouldn’t trust any further than I can spit, and since, I never took up the disgusting habit of chewing. . .
What’s so damn confusing is, these guys know who we are, but they’re not arresting us. Baby, it’s almost as if, this is what they want us to do.
I’m getting one of them bad feelings. . . you know the one I’m talking of. We’re either being set up, or we’re being used for some sick purpose, and I feel powerless to stop it. Am I even suppose to stop it? People are dying, good people.
People we used to run around with, I’m pretty tired. Before I go, I may as well tell you: Marty Simms, was killed today, he died most bravely, and with honor and gave his life most honorably, saving kids-Goodnight baby.
I felt like such a shit, yeah, I was still fighting a no name war. Everything I’d written in my journal was the truth, the truth as far as I took it. Fate is as strange as a man’s passion.
I was the injured man, that had made it to the house of the woman. Yes, her husband had been killed. A woman (A girl) I’d met so many years ago. At first I had no idea who she was. But soon. . .
You’d be surprised at what you can do to a person, to try and break them. A civilized person just don’t think of such sick acts. Things like using a hot pair of pliers, to rip out a person’s fingernails, or breaking fingers and toes with that pair of pliers. Or. . . how about breaking an ankle or a wrist with a pipe wrench.
Either her man really didn’t know anything, or he was one very tough bastard. He never told them anything, he’d made his wife hide in the little crawlspace in one of the closets.
He knew that they’d either kill him straight out, or they’d torture him to death. But they’d rape her and make her pain last for days. She really was a very beautiful woman, and her spirit was as strong as she was beautiful. Men like this, would preform acts upon her, and make her do things just to break her.
But they never did find her.
They hung her husband in the barn after they’d whipped him, they then torched the barn with him and the barn animals trapped inside. Some of the other men tore the house apart, looking for anything that they could use.
Then all sounds went silent.
She’d stayed in the crawlspace two extra days, wondering why her husband had not come for her. They’d put jugs of water in the crawlspace, planning for the what-if day. That was all she had for those days in that crawlspace.
In her heart she knew that her husband had to be dead. He would have come for her, her mind was just refusing to acknowledge that possibility.
In the late afternoon of the second day she finally came out knowing that she needed to know about the fate of her husband. That and the fact that she desperately needed a shower, two days and no restroom. . . you figure it out.
She’d known all along that there had been a fire, she’d been able to smell the harsh aftermath of it through the air vent. Thank God, the vents had been hidden by some brush, or they might have investigated and found her.
She found what was left of her husband, and sat down in the yard and cried for him. Cried for his courage, in protecting her, for the children they’d never have, for the life they’d never have.
They’d never even had a honeymoon, his job had pulled him away on their wedding day. She’d never understood why he didn’t tell them to go to hell, that he’d just gotten married.
Instead he packed a small suitcase, and picked up a small bag that he kept in a hidden panel of the hall closet. He paused at the door, “I promise this is the last one baby, after this. . . I’m a farmer. They kinda got me by the short hairs. I gave my word, and it was the only way I could retire.”
She’d really not wanted to, but she understood why he needed to leave. Why he had to leave. All he’d said about his employers was: “No sane man would want them.”
The day he returned was the day he was killed, he had been gone for over a month without so much as a phone call. . .
Murdered the same fucking day he returned.
She went about her place armed, she wasn’t going to hide again ever, anybody that came there with evil intent, she’d just bury the fuckers in Specters Valley.
The first decent man to come to the farm, if he’d have her she’d leave with. Who’d ever thought it would be me? My wound was bad but not quite as bad as I’d first stated. I was shot in the upper right shoulder, it was five to one and I got four. Not too bad of odds I guess. I’ve had better, and certainly had worse. That last asshole just lost the stomach for the fight and ran.
I showed up at her place, and as soon as she saw me, she knew who I was. She smiled as she approached me. “My name is Ann, Mr. Macalister.”
At first I figured that she’d seen me in town, but at the same time there was something very familiar about her. “Call me Dobs.”
She was very pretty, long black hair, and dark eyes. Have you ever noticed that every person has a certain scent? Some scents are strong and some are just barely noticeable.
Her scent was even familiar. . . very alluring.
She smiled at me as she cleaned and dressed my wound. “You don’t remember me do you?”
“I have to be honest,” I said with a smile. “I’m trying to remember where I know you from.”
She gave her best pouty look, which made her even more sexy. “I’ll try not to be too offended,” she paused knowing that it was driving me crazy. “Dobs, we met at a retreat in the country. . .”
My mouth must have fallen open, because she smiled as she gently pushed my chin up. “Shit.” I whispered.
“I’ll try not to take that personally.”
“Uh-no! I mean you’ve changed, I always knew that you’d be a very beautiful
“Wasn’t I at least pretty back then?” she asked with a smile.
“You’re kidding me right? You were the prettiest girl at the retreat.”
“Do you remember what happened?” her eyes dancing with a wild mischief.
“How could I forget, you’re the reason I-we got sent home, who’d thought that they’d really enforce that bullshit rule?”
Oops I think I speak too much I did wrong but it felt very right.
“Well, you know why.” she said hoping that her plan didn’t backfire, she just wanted to be out of there. She knew that Dobs really was a good man, a really damn good man. He was into that honor crap.
Okay maybe honor wasn’t all crap, it’s just that the man used to reek, of always doing what was honorable. Always standing by a friend no matter what, never, leaving a friend behind. He’d even made a friend by going into a shit-storm. What was so amazing was no one had made a move to stop the fight, those that were in charge just stood back, and watched as he beat the older kid senseless.
In this case she’d just use her womanly persuasions to get him to take her with him. Charm him, feed him, and seduce him, anything. Whatever it takes, give him plenty of free pussy, until he gets you to safety, is a very small price to pay. She never thought of just asking him to please help her.
Just doing what the Bible, said to do: Trying to do some of that begettin’. But best be forgettin’ about too much beggin’.
“Neither of us did much of that,” she said softly as she ran a hand over my chest. Her fingertips pausing on an old wound. “You always were the warrior.”
She’d bewitched me years ago just as she was doing now.
I could feel the heat of my body rise a few degrees, the raging hot burning in my loins, as I turned to look into the face of my old love. I smiled as I picked her up into my arms, and carried her into the house and into her bedroom.
Suddenly it was as if I were fourteen again, and the woman that I was undressing was sixteen. It was hard to tell where one kiss ended and the next began. She cried out softly, as she pulled herself onto his hardness. Her mind went wild.
The laws of morals and right held no meaning for either of them.
She felt the first orgasm rip through her, and she cried out and bit deep into his shoulder. Dobs belonged to her, they were meant to be.
He fought like a savage, those words seemed to echo in her mind. He’ll be one of the chosen, he has what it takes. We’ll give him the girl to be his. The words echoed again.
Nice reward. She’s a virgin.
She could recall being naked and strapped down on a table, and a woman touching her inside with a metal stick. Though her mind was fuzzy, and she could see Dobs on another table beside her.
They’d given them some kind of a shot, the thought came to her, but she couldn’t make her mouth work. She could almost place the aftertaste that the shot had left in her mouth.
They were cleaned up and dressed, they left the strange room and rode in the elevator going up. The air in the elevator seemed to helped to clear their heads. They were given a small paper cup of orange juice as they were going out the door. The strange buzzing in her head slowly stopped.
Sweet Mary, how long does this man last? She asked herself, she’d lost track of the orgasms she’s had.
They’d walked away holding hands and went into the woods, nobody had made a move to stop them. Other kids were either kissing and fondling, or making love in the open.
The experiment was a success, if you stimulated a certain part of the brain, you could control the selected person. Right now, it was just safe and harmless sex. The girls were given a shot, to avoid pregnancy.
She felt Dobs climax. Then for a very long moment, he lay shuddering on top of her. The same thing had happened back in the woods, her breathing came in shudder gasps. She knew what was to be. . . he then began again.
In the woods they’d kissed and fondled, he Kissed and suckled her breasts, and then just worked his way down. She’d never experienced such pleasures as those he’d given her.
She cried out in passion as the orgasm took her she was his and only his. You’ll never fully give yourself to anyone was the final command.
She cried out as he took her in the woods, and she left her nail marks on his back. She belonged to Dobs, and he belonged to her, they were meant to be forever. That was their promise.
The experiment was a success.
That was their goal to find out just how far they could take it. They turned a boy into a fighter with greater skills than normal and bounded two people forever.