Accompanying MP3s are linked from some parts of this chapter but we would highly recommend that you purchase the full CD as the songs are there for reference only.
Aside from the Industrial newsgroups themselves, the one greatest
shame to the Usenet planet's atmosphere actually rested on the far
southern side of the continent mainly devoted to the alt.games
hierarchies, South Carrovant,. This disgusting place, known to the
general public as the city of Mon Schierele, sat in one of the few
unconquered territories of the continent of alt.games, with no
specific country or newsgroup having any possession of it. It sat
right on the edge of the Fooey Desert, right between
alt.games.final-fantasy.hentai and alt.starwars. Yet neither of the
mentioned highly influential newsgroups had ever made any attempts to
conquer it, nor anyone else, for that matter.
Some said the reason for this was obvious: the city was so smog-filled
and dirty that no one wanted it. It housed unknown businesses actively
and publicly prostitution-oriented, a lot of rich folk with bad taste,
casinos for them to waste their money on, a few malls, restaurants and
gas stations, and pretty much nothing else.
The people who believed this were right. But that wasn't all.
In the current early morning of now, a giant cloud of smog blocked off
much of the surrounding area to the few who might live in this
dangerous city. The sun, on this rare occasion, had managed to climb
up above the smog itself, and could be seen, dark-red with a touch of
orange, lighting up the entire city.
In contrast to the sun, large towers stood in all directions, many of
which were letting out intermittent blasts of chemical fire from their
contaminated tips. There were no trees, no plants to be affected by
this in the short-term future, however. Most of the surrounding area's
natural resources had given up long ago, and the monstrous result was
a wide area full of cement buildings, man-made construction, steam,
smoke, and fire. On the oil-streaked streets, condoms, needles, and
old socks had been carelessly discarded.
Except for one small part of the city, sitting directly in the center
of Mon Schierele. One very green, very thriving part of the city, long
protected from its creator's destruction, long protected from the bad
air, toxic chemicals, and sleazy atmosphere of Mon Schierele by
something nameless and barely describable, something seemingly
impossible but yet existent. The medieval fortress, the beautiful
green lawns, the rich mansions, the beautiful birds and small, healthy
animals who called the place home, all protected by what could only be
called a large, invisible dome. It did not reflect, it did not shine;
yet unauthorized persons, unauthorized items, and even unauthorized
air could not enter into the three-to-four mile radius covered by this
dome.
On each side of the beautiful green lawn just in front of the medieval
fortress inside of this dome that served as a foundation for the
organization that occupied it, an intricately carved and marvelously
made statue of a Chinese dragon confronted any who might think to
invade. In its stone hands, each carved with a sharp, precise skill, a
green emerald sharpened to a razor's edge made for a very beautiful,
but very dangerous, claw.
The fortress directly behind the twin dragon statues looked very old
and very genuine. Behind its walls, towers of pure rock rose up to
meet the sky, and from every hole in the rock and from every nook and
cranny, vines of green had formed and covered the exterior of the
fortress. Above the walls, armed sentries wielding guns marched in a
set fashion, stopping every few minutes to search the surrounding
area, presumably for the occasional unwise man or woman who might
somehow slip in.
While they made for added security, sentries rarely were necessary. It
was unlikely, even should one make it through the dome itself, that
one would make it past the moat. Without the willing assistance of the
occupants of the fortress, the bridge would be always raised to the
sky, and the intended intruders would have to swim through a football
field's length of piranha-infested waters just to get past the moat.
The front doors to the castle opened and a single man dressed in the
standard blue-and-white suit of the organization's security team
stepped out of the doors. He looked to be in his early thirties,
though his age had not helped him develop any sort of style or
personality. His short brown hair might have once been beautiful, but
years of cutting off every new hair that dared to grow past his ear
had destroyed any life the hair might have once possessed.
He walked toward the flagpole standing a few meters in front and to
the right of the dragon statues, and pulled on the ropes to lift the
flag of the organization to the sky. The quick, almost careless way he
went about doing this job rang of a certain lifelessness though his
heart continued to beat.
Just beyond the flagpole, a weathered wooden sign of medium size
glared out at the surrounding illusion that was most of Mon Schierele.
The words on the sign, barely visible now through the scars of dirt,
graffiti, and toxic waste, said simply "Military Zone - Intruders will
be shot on sight."
Inside the castle itself, all pretension of being a medieval facility
faded; the solid rock of the exterior was replaced by walls of cold
metallic technology. Each panel encompassed an entire spectrum of
little colored lights to confirm any number of unknown tasks and held
cameras to scan each living organism that walked within the walls of
the fortress. Also on the surface of many of these panels were tiny
holes in the walls from which the computers would automatically aim
and fire powerful laser weapons at unidentified intruders.
On this particular morning, four men were walking down one such long,
winding hall. The man farthest to the left and the man farthest to the
right were both, at best, in their early twenties. Both were tall and
awkward, dressed in over-sized security uniforms. Yet the man farthest
to the left, with his short brown hair trimmed to the point of being
barely visible, marched more than he walked, whereas the man farthest
to his right, though his blond hair possessed of the same style of
haircut, walked with a much less confident posture and seemed only to
mimic his companion's strict march.
The hands of the man farthest to the left gripped the laser rifle
tightly in his hands and kept his gaze focused unwaveringly at the
empty hall in front of him. The man farthest to the right held his
laser rifle with an unfocused reluctance of sorts, and glanced
nervously about at the two men walking between him and the other
guard.
The two new recruits walking directly between the security guards had
a much more dignified and unique look to them. They were dressed in
black suits with white shirts and black ties, they wore black porkpie
hats on their heads, their shape and size was very much different,
and, as one would be capable of seeing should one be walking directly
behind them, they also had the advantage of years.
Right under the hat, strands of gray had taken over much of the
shorter, stockier man's curly black hair. Though strands of gray could
also be seen in the straight black hair of the taller, leaner man
walking beside him, they did not appear nearly as frequently.
The guards slowed to a stop and the brown-haired guard marched over to
the wall. Without a word, he pulled a glowing white card out of his
coat pocket and stabbed it into a nearly invisible card slot. A moment
passed, and an almost imperceptible beep could be heard.
Abruptly the wall in front of the four men raised itself into the
identical but hollow wall above it, giving way to a dimly lit room.
The brown-haired guard turned to face his nervous counterpart and
nodded at him.
Directly under the four men was the prison level. Members of the
resistance who had been caught by the organization were imprisoned
here and left to starve and die after they were deemed useless. Before
their lifelong incarceration began, their vocal cords would be cut out
of them. This method of torture meant that the prisoners could look up
at the railing only twenty or thirty feet above them until they died
and see people walk by, oblivious to their very existence.
One man who had been condemned to death and tossed into the prison
level several weeks before had only a few hours, at best, left to
live. With a strength most men would not have at this point, he
crawled to the wall and forced himself to look up. He noticed the four
men standing above him, and, forgetting his handicap, attempted to
scream to them for help. Then reality flooded over him once again and
he fell to the floor defeated.
He noticed now that the face of the brown-haired guard was the face of
the guard who he himself had killed, and also the face of the guard
who had killed the rest of his team when they had infiltrated one of
the organization's factories. He did not recognize the blond guard,
but the sight of the uniform either of the guards wore was enough to
stir up the prisoner's hatred.
The prisoner focused his failing eyes on the two men dressed in the
black business suits.
The blond guard nodded back at his fellow guard, and sweat beaded
freely down his face. He glanced at the two older men and
half-heartedly beckoned them through the doorway with his laser rifle.
***
The dark chamber the young guard led the two recruits through was
large as a medieval throne room, and seemed about equal in technology;
the walls were covered by blood red curtains, and upon the curtains
themselves hung lit torches, burning higher than most campfires and
yet somehow managing not to set the curtains themselves aflame.
The guard seemed wholly conscious of everything around him with an
anxious awareness mixed with tinges of fear. The brown-haired guard
slamming the wall down behind them, sealing their fates; the way the
eldest of the gatekeepers stationed at the gates in front of them
looked with dispassion at him; the clatter of their shoes against the
floor as they approached the gates. All of it seemed to take meaning
in the frightened guard's eyes.
Followed by the two recruits, he walked toward a giant gate of iron
and steel. It had been slammed shut with the sharp spear-like
gateposts into the rough rock floor of the hall beyond. Two
gatekeepers stood on either side of the gate, and all four held
dangerous-looking rifles in hand.
"W-we have two new possible recruits," stammered the guard, a touch of
panic beginning to enter his tone. "To replace numbers eleven to
thirteen. Clear?"
"Clear," grumbled the eldest of the four gatekeepers after a long
moment. His voice was gruff and he spoke with a confidence the younger
guard lacked, obviously from years of working for this organization.
He beckoned to the gatekeepers behind the gate. "Open!"
Obediently, the two gatekeepers on the other side of the gate walked
to either side and began to pull the long iron chains hanging from the
top of the gate. A loud screech of metal against metal, and the old
iron-and-steel gate began to rise into the air. The two gatekeepers
standing in front of the gate stepped out of the way of the sharp tips
of the gateposts at the end of the rising gate, and the old gatekeeper
simply nodded to the others standing behind the gate.
"You take it from here," he said in a reverent tone. "As always, I
have not the spirit to deserve to take these honorable men to meet the
master. I trust you will do a good job as always in protecting the
master from any danger, accidental or intentional, these fine men may
bring. I will make certain to preserve the silence."
Without a word in response, the two gatekeepers standing behind the
gate stepped forward, grabbed the arms of the two recruits, and pulled
them forward into the stone hall.
As they stepped through, one of the gatekeepers turned and nodded at
his counterparts stationed at the front of the gate. In response, they
pulled at the iron chains on their side, slowly lowering the gate back
down. The blond guard, looking considerably nervous, attempted to help
the older gatekeeper pull the chains down, and the man simply threw
him out of the way.
As the two gatekeepers and the two recruits walked on through the
dimly lit hall, a loud clang could be heard as the gate hit the floor
of the hall once again. Seconds later, some scuffling could be heard
from the other side of the gate, someone screamed, and the loud bang
of a gunshot could be heard. Then silence.
The two recruits slowed to a stop. The tall man looked haltingly down
at his companion through his familiar pair of black sunglasses. The
shorter of the two, also wearing sunglasses, looked right back up at
him.
Finally, they continued to walk behind the mechanical gatekeepers
through the long, dark hall. All of the time, some unknown magic or
technology made it impossible to see anything more than a few feet
ahead or behind of them, presenting an undeniable feeling of
isolation, which might have been what the original magician or
programmer had in mind.
The long hall eventually came to an end in front of a medium-sized
steel gate resembling a vault. It materialized like a specter out of
the shadows. Yet neither of the gatekeepers even blinked at this. The
foremost of the gatekeepers placed his hand on the wall directly in
front and to the left of the steel gate and a green number-pad
materialized directly in front of his hand.
The gatekeeper stabbed at the numbers with the skill of a touch-typist
on a keyboard. Barely any thought seemed to go toward this, and yet
the code he entered was long and complex - it seemed to the two
recruits standing behind the gatekeepers a proficiency not humanly
possible.
The number pad beeped and disintegrated back into the mists, leaving,
again, only the bare stone wall. There was a pause, as if the very
universe itself were hesitating, and then, with a loud cree-ee-eak,
the steel gate of the vault began to slowly open. Simultaneously, the
two gatekeepers beckoned the two recruits toward the floor.
From in front of the four kneeling men, the silence was broken by the
sound of a loud bang, like a gunshot. The steel gate flew forward with
the force and speed of a locomotive, and flew just inches above their
collective heads. It flew past them and disintegrated into the
darkness behind them several feet away. And all went silent.
A long moment passed in which nothing actually happened. Finally, the
two gatekeepers and the two recruits got to their feet, though at
varying rates, and the two recruits began to brush dust off of their
clothing as if nothing of any import had occurred. The gatekeepers
didn't even bother to do that. They simply raised their laser rifles
to the two recruits and nodded them on.
The newest room they entered also was dimly lit. But that happened to
be the single resemblance between the hall they just left and the room
they now entered.
This room was large, large as a gym, and old wood bookcases took over
the room from wall to wall. Filled to the brim with old archives and
historical data, old journals of dead and famous people, famous
novels, not-so-famous novels, first editions, encyclopedias written in
the days of civilizations now only legend, and much, much more, the
bookcases carried a clear spirit of an unquenchable desire to learn.
Imported from foreign newsgroups, many of the bookcases were older
than the combined age of every man now occupying the room put
together.
To fill up the scant remaining empty space, ancient pine tables and
other bookcases had been set throughout the room, along with dozens of
empty chairs.
As they walked by, the taller recruit paused to rub one finger over
the dusty seat of the chair. Obviously, these chairs had been empty
for a long, long time.
Seemingly oblivious to all this, the two gatekeepers marched the two
recruits toward the door, and one of them pulled a key-chain out of
his pants pocket and unlocked the door facing them.
Their next stop was a well-lit waiting room. Chairs lined the walls
and small tables holding magazines and potted plants sat between every
two or three chairs. In front of them a secretary sat at a messy desk,
sorting through disorganized papers and speaking into a telephone. As
soon as she saw the four men walking up to the desk, however, her eyes
widened and she slammed the phone down onto the receiver.
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked sweetly.
"Don't play games with us," growled the nearest gatekeeper, pushing
his badge over to her side of the desk.
The secretary picked the badge up, inspected it carefully, and nodded
at the gatekeeper, handing it back to him. She pressed a button on her
speakerphone, and quickly spoke into it: "Sean, there are some men
here to see you. One has a badge of the Guard of the Gate, and there
are--."
"Send them in," a smooth yet frighteningly deep voice cut her off.
"I've been expecting them for several days now."
Sean had the kind of voice that made one want to run away, change
one's name to 'John Smith', join the army, and get a job flipping
pancakes. It seemed to hold an equal amount of contempt for all, a
pure unbiased disgust for all who might ever possibly enter his life.
The secretary nodded and, without another word, pressed the button on
her speakerphone again. She looked up at the gatekeepers coldly facing
her and said:
"Wait a second."
The secretary stood up, unlocking and opening a door directly behind
her desk. She stepped through it into another well-lit room and
immediately shut the door behind her.
The four men waited. The shorter of the two recruits shifted
restlessly from foot to foot.
Finally, the sound of a key could be heard clicking through the door
just a little to the left and in front of them.
The two gatekeepers led the two other men to the door, and there they
waited for several seconds before the secretary opened it.
"Follow me," she said.
The secretary led the four men down a long, narrow hallway. They
walked past a seemingly unending line of doors. Inscribed on each was
the name "Dr. Sean Daugherty" as well as a variety of different
college degrees and professions. The secretary paid these doors no
heed, however, and only once they reached the final door at the end of
the hall did she finally stop.
The difference between this door and any of the other doors was in
that absolutely no name, profession or college degree had been listed.
Instead, only the words "Fire Exit" had been inscribed there.
"Well, this is it," the secretary announced and raised her first to
the door
"Come in," the voice they had heard on the speakerphone and identified
as belonging to Sean, spoke from behind the door. The door itself
opened seemingly of its own accord with a loud
fingernails-on-chalkboard type screech and revealed an unlit
medium-sized room possessing of a sinister quality. Most of the light
came from the computer monitor turned toward the man behind the desk
and from the hall behind the secretary, the gatekeepers, and the two
new recruits.
The two gatekeepers pushed the two recruits forward with the butts of
their rifles and proceeded to shut the door, cloaking the area almost
entirely in darkness.
The already mildly evil look on Sean's face was only made all the more
sinister by the neon-green glow of the computer monitor reflecting on
to it. His face, though expressionless, seemed somehow to sneer at the
four men standing in front of his desk.
"Here," he said slowly, after a long moment of silence. "Let us have
some light."
Sean pressed a button on his mouse, and, for a moment, nothing
happened. Then a loud rumbling could be heard from the ceiling and the
ground below them. A flicker of daylight appeared on the wall just a
few inches below the top of Sean's desk. This was followed by another,
another, and another until it formed an emerald shape on the wall.
Each of these tiny stars of light grew and expanded until the wall
within the area of the emerald had been replaced by a panorama of the
surrounding land in all its polluted ugliness. Nevertheless, the
previously hidden window lit up the entire room, and managed to reduce
the sinister attitude of it.
In the new light, two lines of tape were now visible on the floor. The
two recruits stood behind the one directly in front of the door. The
other line of tape was directly in front of Sean's desk.
One of the gatekeepers paced forward and looked down at an old
clipboard in his hands.
"Applicants 7474505B," the guard began to drone tonelessly. "Applying
for position... Turk. T.H.E.M. Incorporated, in cooperation with the
AGFFSDIAIA, and working with...."
"Yes, yes," Sean replied irritably. "Come forward."
The two guards pushed the two men toward the other line. This one
brought them closer to the window, and left them visible and extremely
vulnerable in the new light.
Sean looked up and scanned the two individuals standing in front of
him. It pleasured him to no end to see the nervous, uncomfortable
looks on their faces. It meant he still had complete control over them
and their emotions. He gave the two recruits a cold stare that had
been known to make grown men weep.
The taller recruit quickly took his black hat off and held it in front
of him as a sign of respect. The shorter simply glared through his
sunglasses at Sean.
This impressed Sean. Most of the recruits, and even some of the
current Turks, would cower at his stare. The bravery these men
possessed was hard to find. He hadn't thought he would have any use in
adding two more Turks to the payroll, but these men surpassed his
expectations.
Sean looked first at the hat of the taller, thinner man. The man's
hands clutched the side of his black hat, almost entirely covering
his black tie. That wasn't what caught Sean's attention, however;
what caught Sean's attention was the 'E', 'L', 'W', and 'O', written
in black ink on each of the man's fingers on his right hand, and the
'O', and 'D' written in the same color ink on two of the man's
fingers on his left hand.
The shorter, stockier man stepped up to Sean's desk, ignoring the
taped line limitation entirely. His fingers drummed loudly against the
desk.
Sean looked down at them impatiently. On the fingers of one of this
man's hands, the letters 'J', 'A', 'K', and 'E' were written in the
same black ink.
Sean glanced up at the gatekeepers, who hastily realized their mistake
and pulled Jake back behind the line.
Sean stood up and his monstrous, oppressive frame seemed to engulf the
smaller figures in front of him. His cold gaze turned thoughtful and
the room remained silent for another long moment.
"The Job you are applying for is not a temporary career," Sean began.
"On the contrary, if you apply to become a Turk, you will be a Turk
for the rest of your life... until you are killed or are deemed too
elderly to work.
"To be a Turk, absolute loyalty will be required of you. Your job will
take precedence over your social life. And to quit is to die. You will
be put in many dangerous situations, and be forced to fight for your
life... forced to kill.
"On the other hand," Sean continued, and his voice assumed a lighter
tone, "the income is good and you can conceivably raise a family in
your spare time. You will be given plenty of time each year for
vacation, entirely paid for by T.H.E.M. Incorporated and you will be
given the choice to go any place in the world or even off-planet, if
you so desire, during these periods of time.
"The job holds a high degree of excitement and travel. You will be
sent all over the Usenetverse to accomplish your missions, and rarely
will stay in one place for long. T.H.E.M. has many foes, so you will
have to constantly be watching your back for possible assassins. As I
tell all aspiring AGFFSDIAIA Agents, trust no one, except for those
you know in T.H.E.M. or the AGFFSDIAIA.
"Finally, the connection between T.H.E.M. and the AGFFSDIAIA is
relatively unknown between the two organizations, so when you are
around members of either organization, save for the other Turks, you
may not speak as allies to them. Nor as foes particularly. Our
alliance is secret, our enmity illusory. To disclose our secret is to
sign a death contract on both yourself and those you've spoken to and
are suspected of telling."
Sean pulled a contract on a clipboard out from the shadows and slammed
it against the edge of his desk nearest Jake and Elwood. The pen tied
to the clipboard clattered noisily.
"Sign here," Sean said, his tone seeming to hold an even higher level
of contempt than before toward each occupant of the room.
Jake leaned forward, keeping his feet rooted firmly to the floor, and
signed two 'X's at the bottom of the contract.
Sean hesitated.
"Very well," Sean began, apparently deciding the signatures were no
big deal, and nodded at Elwood. "Come forward."
To all who might notice it, the light drum beat at the beginning of
'She Caught the Katy' could be heard beginning to play in the
background.
Elwood, placing his porkpie black hat back on his head, walked
forward, stopping a few millimeters from the end of Sean's desk.
And it was as if the entire Usenetverse suddenly were focused on
Elwood. Inexplicably, the surrounding office that was Sean's
disappeared and was replaced by white light. Even more intriguing,
just below Elwood's chin, the name "Dan Aykroyd," typed in white
lettering with a light blue background surrounding it had formed. Yet
neither Elwood nor Sean seemed to notice this.
The first climactic dun-DUN of 'She Caught the Katy' played as one of
Sean's large hands pulled forward and handed Elwood his Official Turk
Badge c, which Elwood accepted without hesitation.
Quite suddenly, the phenomena that had been taking place ended. The
white light vanished, the focus of the Usenetverse became neutral once
again, and even 'She Caught the Katy' returned to the quiet beat it
had been playing before. One of the gatekeepers yawned, and looked at
a picture hanging on the wall with a minimal amount of interest. Sean
nodded to Jake, and he stepped up to the desk beside Elwood.
Dun-DUN! The music played again. Simultaneously, the Usenetverse
turned its focus to Jake and Sean's office disappeared yet again into
the bright white light. Directly below Jake's chin, the name 'John
Belushi' appeared with the same white lettering and same blue
background as previously with his brother. And again, no one seemed to
notice.
When Sean offered Jake his Official Turk Badge c, Jake snatched it out
of his hand.
The pause between breathtaking shift in reality went much quicker this
final time. The light beat of 'She Caught the Katy' played very
shortly, and it was almost as if this final break were just the
Usenetverse catching its breath - for mere milliseconds later, the
Usenetverse focused once again on the two new Turks, and this time it
was on both of them at once.
Unnoticed, the words "Blues Brothers 2000" appeared in white lettering
within the blue background directly below their chins. Jake and Elwood
earnestly placed their Official Turk Badges onto their coats and
lowered their hands. The final Dun-DUN! of 'She Caught the Katy'
played.
One final time, the Usenetverse unfocused itself from Jake and Elwood,
and Sean's office returned to normal. Followed closely by his brother,
Jake walked toward the door back into the hallway, opened it, and
stepped through.
