KCHughes

The BB code messed up my story? #-o I lost my original copy when my hard disk ate itself, was trying to find it again...

Obviously, this is the end of the story! Hope you liked it.

Ah, time for chapter 11!

OK here's chapter 10 and please note that it is on this page now.

Wel, it seems the original post has hit the word limit so the rest of the story will hopefully be seen in THIS post. :P Here then is Chapter 9! Chapter 9 I rechecked my backpack one more time as I waited for the rookies to catch up. Everything was in order, now that we were resupplied and ready to move out again. Freedom had taken good care of us. I had used some of my acquaintances within Freedom to get Redwood in to see one of FreedomÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s medics. I had also taken the opportunity to use some of my spare rubles to buy discount ammunition from them. Half Pint had healed up well, and Redwood was fortunate enough to only suffer a mild hangover. It had been two whole days since we arrived in Freedom territory, and I was eager to get back into my routine. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅDid you get the shot?ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

Yes, here are 7 and 8 as well. I know 3 chapters in a 24 hour period is a lot but I promised to speed things up a little. :)

I know it's slow to begin, but it will be picking up by the time I get home this afternoon. I know you'll like what I have in store. 8-) What's the irony that you're thinking of?

Chapter 5 is up now. It's pretty short, so I expect more comments yar. :evil:

If you're talking about War And Peace, then you must have a strange sense of humor. :P Of the classics I really only like Dostoyevsky but personally I'm a modernist. Alexander Solzhenitsyn is probably my favorite, he wrote Gulag Archipelago and One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich. Great books. Does nobody visit the library anymore or are people just not reading my story? :( Leave comments! Chapter 5 coming later tonight!

Special treat...Here's chapters 3 and 4, so it should keep you occupied for awhile.

Ah, part of the reason is that I have a fairly enigmatic style of writing, because I like keeping things mysterious to begin and then slowly reveal the details as I write. Xewleer can vouch for me on that, since he's a WOMDA regular. :P The Russian style is in general darker and full of more irony than most Western literature, plus it's really lyrical. I like it a lot.

What wrong with being Russiany? :-w

Right now, about 25 dollars, but this is set in 2012 where 500 rubles is probably more like 15 dollars.

By popular demand (kind of ) here's the second chapter. Yay.

Hello, it's been a long time since I've written anything for the library. This is a piece I've been working on for a long time, but there are some things you should know. One, it's a fan fiction, but it's not about Runescape like I usually do. It's for a game called S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Shadow of Chernobyl, my favorite game ever. If you've played it then you can probably understand everything, but if you haven't, I expain everything, so don't worry. Two, this is an epic story. It's really long. In my word processor it is right at 33 pages. I won't overwhelm yo or anything, but the chapters are a little lengthy, so prepare for a good, long read! I hope you enjoy it, because I had a lot of fun writing it. Here are the Introduction and Chapter 1. Introduction The man had a face that you began to forget as soon as you saw it. No distinct features, nothing unique, just a face. Had there been a crowd in the bar room he was sitting in, he would have simply blended into his surroundings, vanishing into the background. A plain face at first glance. However, a keen eye and a closer examination would indicate otherwise. His light brown hair stood up in places, indicating unkemptness brought about by apathy for outward appearances; philosophical. Soft traces of gray decorated the roots; experience. A perpetually furrowed brow covered with light hair; thoughtfulness. Once-blue eyes were a mild gray; determination and activity. A mouth closed to the little activity in the bar; silent strength. This face certainly had a story to tell. He sat alone in the corner of the bar, at a table with a bottle of good, old Scotch and a small shot glass. He turned the shot glass between his index finger and thumb and eyed the bottle. The label was old, the paper sagging and damp from the moisture of the barÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s cellar. Most of the ink had faded, disguising the name of the Scotch. The man picked up the bottle in his right hand and fingered the label with his thumb. The year of the bottle was almost unreadable, but a barely visible ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬Å19ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ