[El Zilcho]

CABAL
Dread these Shadows,
For what they hide is best left,
Unseen...
The Card
As the lights in Neil's office burst into life, he immediately sensed something was off. His right foot landed upon the pine floor boards lightly, expectantly. The door handle, he'd surmised, was looser than usual. As he had stepped into the spacious workspace, he saw his desk lamp was on. Had he left it overnight? No, there was no way. Never mind his regular attentiveness and concentration - it was simply impossible, even for the most scatterbrained, to miss in the depths of his late shift. Someone had been here. Neil strode forward quickly, reaching the lamp and clicking it off aggressively, as if it was responsible for its own state of disarray. And that is when he saw it.

The hairs on Neil's neck stood straight, as a wave of realisation, remembrance and fearful excitement washed over him in varying intensities. He sat upon the swivel chair, body suddenly weak and mouth uncomfortably sour. He could taste it, that bile like, adrenaline laced burn that greats the gazelle after its escape; the burglar after his success; the man upon, his initiation into the unknown and bewildering. Neil was staring the abyss in the face. It was cold and unyielding, pervasive to every corner of his being. It was all encompassing. There was no going back.

He swallowed and reached forward. A meek hand lifted the edges of the business card slowly and purposely up to eyelevel. His hand trembled, but he kept his grasp steady. The off white card was pleasing to the eye – aesthetically astute with a sharp, watermarked border a mere millimetre from its edge, black and smooth. Centrally emblazoned was the high relief text. A bold, assertive heading. An address, with the credentials smoothly printed below it. Neil recalled his correspondence, many months ago. Distant enough to be patchy, but significant enough to flood back in blocks of clarity. He fumbled with his laptop, before slowing himself and breathing deeply and deliberately.

“Pffff, OK.” He watched it boot up with a knuckle on each side of his nose, resting his elbows upon the black glass desk. Sweat was breaking upon his wrinkled brow by the time everything he required was ready – encryptions, the tunnel, the address, the preliminary sign in. It was terrifying but invigorating. Neil humorously remembered feeling this way on his first date with the wife – before very suddenly slamming back to reality with the prompt.

Username: Naberius
Password:

It had taunted him many a time. It had also, eventually, slipped his mind amongst the deluge of work and the relentless march of life itself. But They had delivered. They were waiting. Neil couldn’t disappoint; he’d gambled so much already. He felt freeing relief as he typed each character into the space provided. The black screen gave way to the welcome page.

He was in.

Immediately the phone to his right rang. Neil’s heart climbed into his mouth, as his eyes locked onto the landline. It rang twice more before he grabbed it from the stand and brought it to his ear. “Composure, come on Neil”...

“Hello?”

“I see you have made it. The preparations were for your safety from outside influences... you won’t need to worry. We know when and where you access It from. It is for both our benefits, you understand.” The voice was electronically masked, disembodied and seemingly ethereal. And yet malignant and menacing.

“Yes. But, uh, I need to know how to find you. It’s, I mean, This is all a lot. I’m very privileged to be here, but I need to know more. I need help.”

“We will reach you. And you will see more. When you are ready.”

“And... how did you get into my office?”

“Goodbye.” It was a suitably commanding and abrupt response. Neil was left reeling. He’d be even more shocked when he took a little time to read the white on black text; his heart shuddered into near collapse when he discovered exactly who’d been responsible for the recent plane crash in Ukraine. Not to mention his promotion...

A wry smile broke on his lips. Inhibitions would have to be put aside. Justifiably, of course...

This post has been edited by El Zilcho on Monday, Aug 6 2012, 02:48

[El Zilcho]

The Black Card

In the months since being initiated by his Benefactors, Neil had soared astronomically. No longer lingering in middle management, he had shot up to Vice President. He'd purchased a Porsche 959 (the very classic he'd had his eye on since he was 11), a home in the Hollywood Hills, and a wardrobe he couldn't wear in 3 lifetimes. His very name had become synonymous with success amongst his peers and colleagues. Albeit, for the wrong reasons. His ascent was completely inexplicable, to the point of being suspicious and insulting to those more capable than him. Which is invariably because, it was.

They had manoeuvred his ascent methodically. His role as Vice President was beyond his capabilities, but the set up allowed his superiors, as well as his perplexed and infuriated underlings to pick up his considerable slack. He spent most of his time out of the office on 'business trips', negotiating new branches in Hong Kong and Shanghai; but used these excuses to detour to brothels and casinos. Hedonism was Neil's new middle name; They were his facilitators. The relationship worked exceptionally, as long as he kept up his end of the bargain.

His periodic visits to what he began to call the "Mixing Room" remained short, sharp affairs. They were frequent reminders of what he was financing, what he was a part of. He'd rather leave that behind his thoughts of Mohitos and strippers. The visits were required, by Them, to keep him updated with what they expected of him. To Neil's contradictory and unprincipled mind, they simply became unwelcome dips of the toe into icy and black waters. Out of sight was one thing, but they were never far from mind.

---

In between the mire of corruption and embezzlement, Neil had time to savour a particularly symbolic and decadent Monday morning... his American Express Black Card had finally arrived. It was sleek, minimalist, aesthetically pleasing. It perfectly embodied the lifestyle Neil was becoming accustomed to. It was as personal as the $500 Armani gloves, the Boullinger, the insignia printed bath towels. Which was a fallacy, of course. He was their whore. And he was becoming quite comfortable with that; but he would learn all too soon, just how pliable to his Masters whims he'd be. His internal weaknesses would be torn open slowly, like entrails in an industrial cog - inevitable and relentless.

---

"Hello, who is this? Neil's response to unknown calls, and to the calls of the unknown, had improved vastly since his material bubble had expanded.

"Why, your Benefactors. Who else would call you unannounced as such?" a slight pause to gauge the reaction. Neil's weak laugh was sufficient. "We're taking a liking to you, Neil." The disembodied voice dripped with the faintest slither of fraternity; and beneath this superficiality, lurked the electronic and very human psychopathy of Them. So very serpentine.

"Ah, thank you... very much. It's been a crazy 5 months, really. I can only hope I've assisted you as much as you have me."

"Of course you have. So much so, that We want to invite you to our retreat on the 18th. It will be an experience." The last word was ominously and deliberately emphasised. A fact missed by Neil. Yet, despite his obliviousness, he was taken aback. Half by the honour, half by the mix of intrigue and curiosity. He would finally be meeting some of his fellow elite - those he had heard of in the Mixing Room. Those, who, in his self justified delusion, kept things running smoothly by drastic means... the ends justified the means. Perhaps if he repeated that mantra enough, it would become as true as Autumn's withering glare.

"I'd be thrilled." Neil knew very little of what would come. Because of this, his response was child like in naivety.

The retreat would be the most terrifying and daunting experience of his life. It would entrench and desensitize him to the inferior, plunge him into a world he could scarcely believe was real. It would strip of him, what little vestiges remained of that cheap commodity he'd traded for his Black Card. Innocence.

"Instructions are to follow. You've never been to the Pacific." The Voice's statement was assured. No need for questions when the answers are already known. Their reach was pervasive. So far, it was also comforting.

"No."

"Then this will be stunning as well as enlightening. Instructions will follow" The call dropped. Enough pleasantries for one day. What sort of trip was this?

This post has been edited by El Zilcho on Tuesday, Apr 2 2013, 16:07

[Eminence]

As with much of your writing, this is tight, taught; it's both expressive and interesting to read, clear, flowing. There's little to fault you on with the writing itself: it's of a good standard.

That said, it has its pitfalls. One would be its balance between showing and telling. Let's start with a little bit of a dependence on adverbs - they're the devil! - which, if you avoid, will often result in much more evocative, intriguing compositions.

Take this:

QUOTE

Neil strode forward quickly, reaching the lamp and clicking it off aggressively

The fact that each clause ends in an adverb sticks out like a sore thumb to me; what's more, it's pretty simplistic description. But what if you found a different way to express how his stride was quick, how his action was aggressive? What if he does this instead:

QUOTE

Neil dashed forwards, reaching the lamp and snapping it off

It's not a perfect sentence by any means, but already it's both shorter (and therefore more to the point) and more expressive. The very image of 'snapping the light off' just has more life, and it's getting that same sense of movement and aggression across.

You don't have to cut adverbs out completely, but as a rule of thumb - and nothing more - they're a little lazy, a shortcut. 99% of the time, there's a sharper way to express it.

Now, another related point is this:

QUOTE

"Of course you have. So much so, that We want to invite you to our retreat on the 18th. It will be an experience." The last word was ominously and deliberately emphasised.

You'll notice the adverbs, but they're not the problem; they're just a symptom of it. Basically, that entire sentence after the dialogue is unnecessary. It tells what could be shown. What about if you just tweaked the dialogue to this:

QUOTE

"Of course you have. So much so, that We want to invite you to our retreat on the 18th. It will be an... experience."

Gets pretty much the same message across, doesn't it? But nothing is spelled out for the reader: it's all there, just waiting to be interpreted. And that's the beauty of it, because it becomes open for interpretation, whilst at the same time striking a balance between being obvious and subtle. It guides, instead of ramming the point home.

BUT --

Let's get onto the more interesting stuff. Plot. Story. Character.

The first thing I notice is that you're writing with a pretty heavily expositional style. Now, there's not really any right or wrong answer when it comes to stylistic decisions, but for me, I prefer a much more active image with sprinkles of backstory. The first chapter struck that balance a little better I thought: it sets up this evocative image and atmosphere - largely through some good work describing the lighting and the situation - and then it goes on to filter in details about who Neil is and why he's there, all without truly revealing things.

The second chapter, though, felt like more of an information dump. I don't think there was much of a scene in there: it's all abstract, floating in the air, describing what has happened in the past without describing what is happening right now. As such, it just becomes a little less interesting to follow.

If there's backstory to be conveyed, always try to consider how and why you're getting it across. Is there a more interesting way to do it? At the very least, have the character do something actively, and then segue from one point to another, bringing up subtle chunks of exposition. Simply listing off what's happened to the character over a series of months does little to draw the reader directly in to what's going on.

As I say, though, that could be a point of contention. There's no right or wrong; it's style. If you enjoy large descriptions of character history, more power to you. For me, a more cinematic disposition, with an active image, is often more engaging.

With that point on style out of the way, onto the story itself. I'm definitely being reeled in. I think you're doing well to create a real air of mystery and conspiracy, and it's planting numerous hooks: who is behind it, how did the plane crash, what was their motive? And the big one, of course: what is Neil's engagement with them? Why/how did it come to pass?

And, of course: what's going to happen at the retreat? Exposition aside, I think the pacing is spot on: setting up what's going to happen next, hinting at it, revealing just enough to pique the reader's interest. It feels set up well to carry on to the retreat and all that potentially comes with it.

So yeah, it's good start. The writing is crisp, but a little laboured: inject a touch more pace and I think you're onto a winner.

[Ziggy455]

Just gave it a read and I'm with Eminence on the the Show and Tell aspect. There's no much I can say to this, critically at least. I'd like to see where this goes. One thing that stuck out to me was this:

QUOTE

The retreat would be the most terrifying and daunting experience of his life. It would entrench and desensitize him to the inferior, plunge him into a world he could scarcely believe was real. It would strip of him, what little vestiges remained of that cheap commodity he'd traded for his Black Card. Innocence.

I don't know why you put this in here. For me it kind of cut the pace dead. It's like telling the story before it already happens. It's not a bad move, it's a subjective move in your style but for me I read it and it sort of killed the suspense of what we were going to find out. Other then that your writing is crisp and witty. I love it, and I'll wait patiently for the next chapter.

[El Zilcho]

First Class

"You're new, right?" Neil's companion to his right pointed, jarring him from his day dreams.

"Ah, yes. What is it exactly?"

"Haha, oh boy." The Man's squint was considerable, his voice carrying a distinct Texan twang. "I don't want to ruin it for ya. It's a thrill, alright. You might not like it right a way, but with company like this, heh, you'll buy right into it. You've got no choice!" He was nearly laughing at this, an awkward fact not lost on Neil. His advice was noted and Neil nodded kindly, looking back out of his window.

No expenses had been spared aboard the private jet. Belonging to one of Them, it was outfitted with several sofa lounge areas in the aft section, adorned with luxurious seats and multi-media systems embedded as standard. The aisle was upholstered with red carpet (appropriately enough for the clientèle, who seemed to consist of young professionals, middle aged businessmen and ageing CEOs) with 3 stunning hostess working non-stop to the beck and call of the men. At face value this seemed innocent enough, but Neil was stirred by the finer details once again. The hostess' had an almost Japanese sense of service; they appeared terrified to dawdle for even an instant, and stood, when inactive, with plastic smiles that never shifted. They seemed scared to even fidget, hands permanently fixed at their sides when stood at the front. But their eyes..?

Turbulence suddenly buffeted the passengers without warning; it coincided seamlessly with a colossal cloud front sliding over the plane, coating it in thick black mist. Neil's in flight entertainment (of watching the clouds drift by) now denied, he turned reluctantly to the Texan and decided to initiate conversation.

"How long have you been coming here? Is this, like a, regular thing or is it quite new?" Neil's lack of research was glaring.

"This is my fifth. But I know it's been running since '96. They started these locally before that, but obviously someplace secluded is much better. Hence our idyllic slice of paradise out here." A beaming grin revealed smokers teeth.

"And this is a week long, right?"

"Right." Before more idle small talk could be made, the pilot made an announcement.

"Gentlemen, we'll be arriving at the Island in around 20 minutes. You'll be directed at the exchange as usual. I hope you've had a pleasant trip, and I know you'll enjoy yourselves." The hostess' passed by once more, this time handing each visitor a grey keycard (each engraved with the guests alias') and offering more last minute refreshments. Nail's said Naberius, Azreal for the Texan.

"Hmm, Naberius huh? I'm guessing you're a Nick or Nigel, right?" The Texan was still grinning. What was his problem? Neil couldn't help himself thinking there was something ulterior behind those rows of disorganised incisors and canines.

"I'm not supposed to say." The Texan fixed him with a deathly glaring, before once more comically breaking in a wide grin.

"Very good, you're learning fast my boy!"

[El Zilcho]

It's getting intense fellas. Check it out,

Home Videos

Neil was slightly tipsy after his second day binge; his faculties slowly returning to him, he sat listening to a man of obvious importance, if also one of vague identity. They were both facing each other from across a large conference room on the island. It was night, and even with the blinds wide open the room was warm and dark. A slight gust brought in the gentle sounds of swaying leaves outside.

"We're interested in moving you up. Your service has been indispensable, so it's only fair we really show you the full extent of our operations. But first, I think you should see something. It's standard procedure, don't feel too threatened. This man broke our rules; I'm sure you won't." The projector whirred to life, spitting out grainy footage, improving in quality slightly as it progressed.

The video was recorded in a basement, windows barred shut, a chair leaning against the wall. A large, rusted barrel sat in the centre. It had small holes poked in the sides; the top was clamped shut with a large metal grill over it. Various cinder-blocks and metal clamps kept this firmly attached. The cameraman took a moment to pan over this nonchalant scene, before removing the camera from the tripod and lifting it over barrel, looking down. Inside was a man, bound and very badly beaten.

---

Neil's eyes had been wandering along the darkened walls during the mundane introduction, but were now snapped in horror to the screen.

"What th-"

"Look."

---

"What are you doing!? You've got this very wrong, please. Please listen to me." His protests were feeble. The man's chains kept loudly grinding along the inside of the barrel as he attempted to move. Reaching up, he tried to grasp the cameraman through the mesh grid. This was an impossibility. His fingers reached up to the last knuckle, but could poke no further. At this range, the camera picked up his injuries in grim detail - his left eye had either been removed or beaten to uselessness, his right shoulder was purple and swollen, and his knee caps a mess of blood and scab. However these injuries had been inflicted, it was clear they had been prolonged.

Three men entered, standing alongside the barrel as the camera adjusted the view so as not to include their faces. One of them lifted a jerry can and began emptying it's contents into the barrel, the man inside loudly spluttering as it soaked his wounds mercilessly.

"Diesel, Bill. It burns slower." From the current angle it was unclear who was talking, but it seemed to be the cameraman.

"I'm telling you, it wasn't me. Please! I, I haven't, I know you've already done so much, but you've got to believe me. I've nothing left. I'm broken, wo-"

"It's too late Bill."

"f*ck, please. Just wait. Anything. Anything! I'll do anything!" Once more both hands were scraping against the grill above Bill's head. His nails had been torn out.

"Anything?"

"Yes!"

A different man spoke next, with a deep voice. He leaned over the barrel fully, looking down into the diesel drenched cage and spitting with some rage.

"How about Miranda? And your Son?"

"Not like this. Just, please, don't burn me." It was a miserable sight. A man was begging like a child, tears welling up. His nakedness and pain were enough to move anyone to empathy. (Neil's fellow 'cinema goer' just smiled, sipping some water.)

"We'll take your family instead. Just say so. We'll swap you for them." The silence was deafening. Bill's tattered figure stared up with his one good eye, alternating between the camera and the others. His hands fell in surrender.

"Ok." The response was chilling. He'd taken it all, and had nothing left to fight with. In his pain, in his diesel drenched compromise, he had surrendered his wife and child to death. For a little comfort. It was delicious to Them; a mild chuckle emanated off camera - this had been orchestrated.

"I'm so pleased you said that Bill. They'll die, all because you are a coward. That's why you're here anyway, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"I'm sorry!" It wasn't apparent who he was talking to, but he beat against the barrel with intense pain.
The cameraman moved backward, placing the camera onto the tripod with a wide view of the room once more. The faces were pixelated.

"We're not going to spare you Bill. How could we?" An inhuman moan echoed out of the barrel. The pounding resumed, to no avail. Pathetic attempts to shatter the grill also commenced, drowning out some of the taunts.

"You've sold all you had left in the world, and it isn't even going to make a difference! How does that feel?" (Neil's companion said dryly "I love this part."

"You said! That, you," Sense was no longer Bill's priority. The last man stepped forward, silent until now. Producing a black packet of hotel matches, he struck the first. It blazed to life, as the man held it over the grill. A fingers grip all that stood between life and fiery death. He was clearly savouring the power; basking it this dank basements significance. And in his role as executioner.

Flicking the match aside, Bill choked down a gasp as it landed safely away. A second exploded and Bill's unintelligent pleas were drowned out by the man's parting exclamation.

"A selfish man is a thief." The match fell. Bill attempted to catch it, his chains jangling. It was pointless. Within seconds the flames began licking up the inside of the cage, Bill's carbonising hands pressed against top of the grid. His body fell away from life and into the agonising throes of death... every muscle was taught with pain. He tore at his skin as it peeled away, his lungs threatening to burst with the heat and volume of his shouts. The pitch changed; it leaked from fear to groaning. His flailing continued as his black arms reached between the grid, gripping tight. In stupor, he attempted to force his head against the top of the grill.

"Find his family. Bring them here. And show them the video." Movement finally ceased as the flames continued crackling, chunks of ashen skin rising out of the impromptu barbecue. Bill's hand remained, gripped around his prison bars. It was a large blaze now, smoking billowing freely from it and into the ventilator in the ceiling. A whooshing and moaning noise escaped from the flames; whether this was the last sign of life or the sound of breaking bones and collapsing lungs, was unknown.

There was a cut. A moment of black. And some stills of the barrel... left outside Bill's front door.

---

Neil sat in perfect silence. He didn't dare show any disapproval, any disgust, anything. His poker face threatened to crack at any time. He just wanted to vaporise, there and then. The life of a hermit had never been so attractive.

"A selfish man is a thief, Mr Thomas. Don't ever forget that." Their eyes met for an instant. Neil swore he could see the Devil.

This post has been edited by El Zilcho on Saturday, May 11 2013, 21:22

[Mokrie Dela]

Just got round to reading this, well the fire two chapters anyway.

Eminence has already said one of the things I was going to point out - "it'll be an... Experience.' so I won't mention that and he's said more than I can too so I'll add only two things:

QUOTE

"Ah, thank you... very much. It's been a crazy 5 months, really. I can only I've assisted as much as you have me."

I'm assuming there's a 'hope' missing in the final sentence.

But the biggest thing I want to say is this:
I often say that writings need to hook the reader. Three things can do this - action, description or mystery.

The first chapter had the mystery down; it was spot on. Who are these guys? What's going on?
I also got the sense that there's something BIG behind it. Well done for that, they pulled me in nicely (was supposed to be in bed ten mins ago!)
Description is good too, a touch up needed here and there but its good.
Action - by way of tension - is there too. I felt on edge from the off - I wanted to turn the light on.

Then the mysterys built up - he's vice president and has lots f money, Movistar sort of status?is he Vp of a company or the government? I didn't find that clear and my entire intrigue hinges on that. More questions were raised and that is one reason people keep reading
This looks set to be a good read though

[Eminence]

Brilliant. I love the scene with the barrel; both vicious and vivid. I really enjoyed the scene on the plane, too, I felt that had an excellently established foreboding atmosphere, quite subtle but it comes through. It's developing nicely, I think.