THEKYLEKURTZ'S PROFILE

Wow, that's a really amazing story.

I definitely liked how the elements of the dystopian society were introduced slowly, so it wouldn't overwhelm the reader.

The details, especially in the beginning as wonderful as well.

I don't have really much of anything to offer in the way of criticism, but that was a great little story. I'm glad you got it published.

Hey all! I started posting a story on here about 2 years ago, but had to stop due to unforeseen circumstances. I recently restarted the entire tale from scratch, and really hope anyone who has time enjoys it and lets me know what they think. I plan to edit this after it's complete, so any and all criticism would be appreciated, even if you find something terrible and let me know, I'll find a way to use it.

Thanks in advance!


Prologue: Just another day to die





Rain spilled down on the world from a deep blue sky, final rays of the setting sun choked out by the canopy of crying clouds. In the warmth of a diner he washed down the taste of his turkey and mashed potato dinner down with what was left of his coffee, grimacing as he wished he’d added at least another cup of creamer. Johnathan Dent looked out the window again at the world outside bustling despite the dirge coming down, and for a moment felt like it was always moving on without him.



He glanced down at the bill on the table and nodded, leaving an extra four dollars. He paused, recalling the waitress giving him a big smile as she came by to refill his coffee before for the third time and left an extra bill for her. For a moment he wondered if it was too much, but brushed the concern aside. There was nothing he wanted for himself anyway.



He pulled the collar of his dark blue coat up to cover his neck at the doorway, drawing a simple brimmed hat from under his arm and sliding it on a short cropped head of brown hair. Even though he wasn’t required to keep it so, he found the wavy locks cumbersome when it grew out. Johnathan Dent looked out at the street, watching cars slide by for a moment when two young women caught his attention.



At barely nine thirty they stumbled along the sidewalk laughing, clutching one another for support while holding thin purses over their heads in vain to block the rain. He’d shake his head, but there was a time when a young man that looked an awful lot like him was just as foolish. His small smile faded when one of the ladies’ heels snapped, young thing faltering out onto the road with a surprised yelp.



In an instant his hazel eyes took the entire world in, car less than five meters away skidding on the rain slicked road as the driver slammed the breaks down. The young woman rose to her feet, senses too dulled now to even realize the doom barreling her way. As the driver pressed the horn in John moved, across the road in less than a second to slam her aside with the force of his shoulder.



He locked eyes with the driver for just an instant before the two met. John’s knees gave in upon impact, body slamming against the hood as his skull let a spider web style fracture in the windshield stained with just a small spot of blood.



John Dent fell back onto the road, darkness already creeping across the edges of his vision as he stared blankly up at the dark blue sky. The pretty little thing appeared above him, her features blurring as he felt her tears on his face, one last hint of warmth as everything began to grow cold.



When he opened his eyes again, only darkness was waiting for him. He no longer felt cold, or pain or even the soft touch of warmth at his cheek. He’d been here before, in this limbo. But for some reason, he couldn’t really remember when. He briefly wondered if that blonde girl was okay, but then realized he couldn’t remember her face.



Or much of anything, for that matter.



---





Rebecca Black sat back in her chair, an ergonomic style seat she’s recently purchased for herself while slurping some ramen noodles from a cup. When an alarm sounded she lurched forward, swallowing as she caught her glasses before they slipped off. She pushed the framed up the bridge of her nose and swore aloud at the sight of Stroke’s vital signs flat lining.



She keyed in her password and activated Stroke Protocol Ninety-Six with a sigh. Somewhere deep within the Mausoleum, a hiss sounded as a coffin-shaped container slid off the wall and onto the conveyor belt. An automated system roared to life, heated air pumped in as electrical pulses raced through the body inside, diagnostic systems inside checking everything from his dimensions to muscle tension.



Without a pause her superior, General Magnus, burst into the room. He turned her way with ever present fury in his dark brown eyes and demanded, “Just what the hell happened, Miss Black?”



She brought up the video feed of that night and looped his last moments for the Soldier to see while explaining, “While out grabbing a bite to eat, Agent Stroke saw someone in trouble and decided he wanted to be a hero. He saved the girl, and that’s what he got for it.”



The general sighed with distaste, watching the event play itself out. He calmed, if only slightly and said, “I’ll have the geeks draft up a story and have some homeless guy who’s been missing a while be the patsy on this. Probably a veteran, no one will look twice.” She stared at him incredulously for a moment, to which the General demanded, “Do you have some sort of objection, Miss Black?”



She shook her head, noticing the revival phase was nearing completion. She quickly began typing away and let her superior know, “No sir. I’ll just wipe tonight’s events entirely and have him recall another scheduled check-up and we’ll go from there.”



With a curt nod, the imposing man turned on his heel and let himself out. She couldn’t help but let out a deep breath she’d been holding since he’d let himself in. The upload finished in seconds, Stroke’s mind accepting the implanted memories with a 98% success rate. She heard him in the shower now, John Dent emerging moments later while complaining, “Man Doc, that shower always leaves me feeling frozen to the bone. So how’s the prognosis, am I gonna make it?”



She stifled a small chuckle and looked away after turning to find him draped only in a towel. She quickly pulled her glasses off and began nervously wiping away at the lenses while letting him know, “Yes John, I think you will. Have a good night, Agent Stroke.”



He walked behind the curtain and quickly got dressed. On the way to the door he stopped and wondered, “Hey Doc, you got the time? Don’t know where I’m always losing my watch.”



She grimaced at the small oversight and glanced at her computer before replying, “Ten twenty. Why?”



John shrugged and let out a wistful sigh. On his way out the door he let her know, “Was gonna hit up my favorite diner. But eh, they’re closed for the night. I’ll just whip up a snack instead.”

Thank you guys. I'll keep that in mind with describing scenes, I know it can get a little haphazard, sorry.


Chapter Five: Empty Walls


She sat in the chair beside Stroke, concern splashed over her fresh features. He looked back up from the comfort of the leather of the couch in her office when Dr. Andrews asked again, “Have the dreams been getting worse, Stroke?”

Stroke frowned, thin lips turning down as his brow furrowed over hazel eyes. He said to Dr. Andrews with uncertainty, “You know how when you wake up, the dream is just a dream? Those events, the things that happened, you can always tell they never really happened.” Dr. Andrews waited for him to go on, pen in hand when he continued,

“But these aren't dreams. I can remember what it was like to drown. To be shot. Falling to my death. And what scares me...”

Silence fell on the two, steady sound of the clock the only vibration in the room until Dr. Andrews asked, “What scares you, Stroke?” He laid still on the couch, seeming to refuse any eye contact as he answered,

“Sometimes I have trouble remembering my own name. Like... I haven't used it in years. Once in a while I can't remember my parents, or where I went to school. Like it's all so far away. But I can remember dying, like it was yesterday.” Dr. Andrews' blue eyes remained fixed on her notebook, ball point pen in hand beginning to quake. Stroke asked if she was all right, his voice snapping her gaze away from the word she'd written, pen swiftly obliterating the note before she set the notebook aside and replied,

“You've had a very different life than most. Ever since you joined, your potential was noticed... And you're older than most people your age, if only in what you've experienced Stroke. Why don't you write down the dreams for me? As many as you can remember, it may help.” He nodded, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch as he got on his feet and replied,

“I'll try it out Doc. But in the meantime, I have a social to attend I guess.” She moved as he did, attempting to block the pad with her body as he stood, giving no indication he'd seen anything as Dr. Andrews wondered, “Oh? What for?”

“Don't know. Typical stuff, important people getting together, drinking and congratulating each other for making other people keep the country safe for them. I'll just be there with Salamander to make sure nothing bad happens.”

On his way out, his calm demeanor faded. He thought about the word, clumsily crossed out on her notebook all the way to his quarters, wondering if he'd misread the bold black letters.

RESET.

Chapter Four: Twin Snakes


“You ready old man?” Stroke looked up from the entangled sipper of his sneaking suit at the lithe form of Candle waltzing in the room, sharp hazel eyes condescending as his cocky wide smile. Stoke only gave a grunt in response, to which the young agent gave a grin and asked, “Should I tell them you have to sit this one out cause you haven't had your Geritol today?”

Zipper pulled up to his neck Stroke scowled back and asked, “Pretty tough talk, when we're done you wanna know what getting laid is like? I liked it.” Candle coughed, looking back out into the hallway. His outline faded, form drifting across the room as Stroke moved, palm against the grip of his pistol the moment he heard his knife sliding from his sheath. Cold steel pressed against his throat after Candle's form took to solidity again, young man's assured smile fading over the barrel pressed against his chin. Stroke goaded,

“Still slower than this 'old man.” The knife clattered to the floor as Candle was whisked away again, out the door without another word. Stroke picked the device back up again and slid it away as General Magnus stepped into the room, dark eyes amused as he asked, “You understand the nature of your mission?” Stroke nodded, asking in return,

“Why's the kid coming with? Thought you guys were going to let him start tackling solo jobs.” General Magnus' wide shoulders rose and fell, voice casual as he let Stroke know, “We still have some issues with his... maturity. Maybe if he behaves himself this time around. Just make sure he doesn't get himself killed, he's a valuable asset when he's not acting like a...” Stroke interjected,

“A teenager?” “General Magnus nodded and dryly agreed. Stroke checked his equipment again and followed suit.

---

A cold October wind swept by the two as they looked out into the darkness of the pier. At his side Stroke heard Candle complain, “We've been out here for an hour old man, wish you had shit to talk about besides Flinstones or the Kennedy Assassination. Freezing my balls off.”

“What balls?” Candle growled back, eyes widening at the sight of lights flickering to life at the far end of the dock. He stood on the edge of their rusted container, intently looking for the movement to begin near the boats. Stroke said to no avail, “Remember to be careful, they're- hey!” His form opaque, Candle's thin form drifted off towards the smugglers. Stroke moved quickly, footfalls silent despite his speed as he ran after Candle.

Below the men moved quickly, one hurriedly barking orders at the others struggling to open the locked crate inside the craft. Their movement came to a halt as their eyes drifted to the spotlight above after darkness fell upon the dock, their gaze coming to rest on the handle protruding from the spotlight lit by sparks bleeding out. The men all spun in the sudden dark, weapons pointed out into the blackness as the leader ordered the others to look out.

He drew a chemlight from his jacket, orange light following the snap revealing a thin form standing before him, smile wide. The man reached for his weapon when Candle fired, muzzle pointed between his eyes. The smugglers all turned to the sound to see Candle disperse, reforming to kick a man's knee out from under him, spraying red across the concrete on his way down when Candle fired. Another wildly opened fire, the semiautomatic pulled from his hands after Candle appeared before him, butt shattering the cartilage of his nose. The man screamed when another wildly fired their way, volley of bullets passing through Candle as his form grew opaque.

The last kept firing as Candle's wispy form flew his way, automatic clicking as Candle reformed and spun, side of his foot connecting to the man's neck driving him headfirst to the cement. Knife in hand Candle drove it down in the fallen man's chest.

He turned to the sound of movement, fingers pushing back the trigger of his pistol at the dark figure by the crate when Stroke reached him. His left hand connected to the side of his face, force of the blow throwing Candle off balance as Stroke's right hand passed over the pistol, pulling the slide away as Candle's finger uselessly pulled the trigger. Candle turned to him in in a rage to hear Stroke shout,

“Did you even read the case file?! We were an hour early, to a human trafficking operation. You were a less than a second away, from killing her.”

Candle looked at the figure again, eyes adjusting to the orange glow of the chemlight to see a woman in rags, thin arms wrapped around her daughter. A frown fell across his features, reaching out for the slide to his pistol. With a click he locked the top half of his weapon back in place, only giving Stroke back a halfhearted thanks.

At the sound of helicopters in the distance Stroke began to count the recovered persons, looking over in surprise when Candle said, “Guess... I'm glad you came with, old man.” He remained facing away, still not looking Strokes way even after their pickup arrived.

Gah I kept messing this up.