The Runouw.com Connection-Extended Chapter 7!

[MessengerOfDreams]

So here's teh thing. I'm bored. I can't get inspired on the replenishers. So right about now, I am going through and adding to-redoing the runouw.com connection. This way I can get it absolutely perfect. Every few days or so I should have another chapter out. BTW I moved chapter 5. Ciao and enjoI!

Chapter 1

(*Buffy’s Narrative*)
Penumbra Kelly Juvenile Hall. The home of many rebellious, depressed and even dangerous teens was also a classroom to young adults wanting to make a difference. Three, to be exact. One was loudly smacking 1 foot of the 6 feet roll of Hubba Bubba, another whistling loudly to his Mp3 player, a third excitedly pace around. Their instructor (that’s me), not much older than them, looked at these three and thought to myself “I can’t believe this is the face of the future Portland Police Department.” Whether it was excitement or disdain, I couldn’t discern.
Nevertheless, I, Buffy Clark, continued.
“Felkis, Davis and Eastman.” I stated, in an attempt to look like a large authority among them, although in reality, Eastman was a half-foot taller than me. “I called you over here today because I have a test for you today, and for as long as it may take. This test will prove whether or not-“
“Excuse me,” Mic Davis interrupted, stopping his pace, “He’s gone now.”
I sighed in relief, since I realized my strict boss had made his exit. Usually he had required that I be strict with the interns, which I hate. “Okay, cut the commando crap. How many of you have ever heard of http://www.runouw.com?”
No hands went into the air.
I nodded. “Me either. So, from what I hear, this site is based in Portland, and it is an online forum that centers on flash gaming, more notably, the owner’s game called Super Mario 63. It’s an online fan game that has broken records and won actual awards. You gotta admit that’s impressive.”
Sam Eastman raised his eyebrows, and removed his headphones completely. “Ah, yes. I am actually a fan of that myself.”
My slight smile disintegrated at that moment. “Well, the owner’s name was Rob Stevens, online known as Runouw (don’t ask me where he came up with THAT name), and last night, he was found dead at Lovejoy and NW Station Way in his condominium by Union Station.”
Ema Felkis, who was in the midst of blowing a gum bubble, felt it pop over her face. Undaunted, she wiped it off and said “A murder? That’s always terrible. I can’t believe it!”
“Exactly. But it gets more interesting.” I started to tap my foot, my habit when getting excited. “The killer actually used Stevens’ computer to shut down the website.”
Ema grinned, illuminated. “Which means, whoever killed Stevens must have been after something on the website?”
“Good Job!” I high-fived a beaming Ema. Even Mic and Sam couldn’t help but grin at her cheerful disposition, a staple for her. Sam liked to call her the team cheerleader.
Sam asked “Can I hack into the website? I want to learn more about this… Rinnow?”
“No, I think it is Ranova.” Mic replied.
“You’re both wrong,” Ema put in, “It’s Runowch!”
I laughed. “It’s Rinouw- no, Ranwich- no, see; now you got me all confused!” I laughed hysterically for a couple of seconds, then took in a deep breath and composed myself. “It’s Runouw. And, yes, I did bring in a laptop. Now if we could just find a place we can get some dang Wi-Fi, you could sure try.”
Grinning, Sam cracked his knuckles. Hacking was a specialty of his. The Super Mario 63 he had said he played, he beat by hacking into the game’s system and increasing Mario’s size until he could kick his enemies out of the way. And, yes, he programmed Mario to do that as well. As you know, hacking into someone’s personal life is illegal (read; don’t try this at home kids) but if the guy’s dead and you’re working for police, it magically becomes legal. Who knew?
A few fancy yet boring technological moves later, Sam was in under the alias of Runouw. “I’ll start with the PM’s.”
“PM’s?” Ema asked between chewing gum.
“Private Messages,” Sam explained. “Basically, if anyone wanted to contact him, send him hate mail, or give him details about the website, that would be the way to do it.”
Mic pointed to a PM with a caution mark on it. It read “Need You in Off-Topic Quick.” The Sender was an alias of blablob. “What, are all members authorized to down three large bags of sugar before you pick a name?” he joked. Sam chuckled. “Anyways, open it.” Mic continued.
Opening it, the message read the following:
“Runouw quick! The mods are off and zebterestalala and Lrmaster132 are in a big flaming match! You can’t miss it! The topic is called “Lrmaster Sucks and Fails at Life! They’re clogging the chat with quite precisely chosen swear words, just do something quick! Ban them or something!”
“Yikes,” Ema said. “They’re sure spreading the hate.”
“Yeah, more funny names, too.” I noted.
Thoughtfully, in the search bar, Sam typed in “Ban.” Instantly, the ban log came up. At the bottom were Lrmaster132 and Zebterestalala. The report, by Runouw, read
“Zebterestalala and Lrmaster132
1 month
Starting a full-fledged flame war.”
In a quote bubble, it read
“Zebterestalala wrote: Lrmaster I am sick of you! You suck, yo mama sucks, and you’re a big ******* loser! Leave this website, because no one likes you!”
“I don’t even want to know what the stars are covering.” Mic quipped. Sam continued to read.
“Lrmaster132 wrote
Yo zebterestalala you are an *******! You can stick it where the sun don’t shine. I hate yo ****** ******* guts and you better get off this forum before I send you a virus!”
Ema was horrified. “My god, these seem more likely to kill each other than Stevens!”
“But these guys also have hundreds of posts.” Mic pointed out. “They probably associated with friends here, and on the right day, could have been peed off enough to kill Stevens and shut down the whole website.”
Sam went back to the PMs. “Hmm… there’s his last PM before his death. It says ‘New mod chosen’”
“You would probably think I’m clueless,” Ema started, “But what’s a mod?”
“A moderator. Basically, another leader. Like a police officer.”
This Ema could understand quite easily.
He opened this message sent by a Superyoshi. Before Mic could quip on an actual name that made sense, Sam started to read.
“‘Hey Runouw. I know with all the spam bots’ Which, Ema, is people who are only on the website to advertise bullcrap, ‘that have been posting non-stop lately; I feel the need for another moderator is in order. Now, I know how bad Blablob wanted this, as he has been doing a lot of backseat moderation lately, but I think that the guy has a tendency to overdo it, and may be a tyrant as a moderator, there, I said it. I do believe that Avolerators, however, would make a much better moderator, as he is friendly, well-composed and, well, just fit for the job. Blablob would probably be ticked, but, hey, he can’t hack into the computer or anything, so we’re set.’”
Ignoring the urge to impersonate Blablob back to Superyoshi, Sam shook his head. “I swear, if this nonsensically named blablob did kill Stevens, he obviously must have no life whatsoever. And does anyone else notice his ‘Prepare to Die’ topic? Suspicious.” That got me, too. Who makes a topic about
There was only one message left that intrigued me. It read “My departure,” from a Niklaw. Sam saw me eyeing it and decided to open it.
“Dear Runouw,” it read. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I have decided to leave http://www.runouw.com for a simple reason- it has really in my opinion become a mess, and so many of these people could very simply meet up in Portland somewhere, but are busy hunched over a computer, allergic to daylight. I think I would manage much better in face-to-face conversation. If you could give me your address, maybe we could organize something like that. Either way, I respectfully depart from the forum, with Avo as my replacement. Cheers! Niklaw.”
All four of us raised their eyebrows, well, except Ema, who did not have eyebrows, oddly enough born without them.
“This guy probably got Stevens’ address!” I hissed.
“So our main suspects so far are this blob guy, a zebra, the claw and some Lrmaster thingamajig?” Ema asked, rolling her eyes and adding “Only online.”
“Well,” Mic added, “We haven’t bothered to research family yet.”
I handed Mic a file. “Well, from what I got, the parents live in Charleston, South Carolina.”
Ema sighed in relief. “That’s good, because you all know how much I would hate to tell the family. I’d probably be the first to start bawling like a true professional.”
I sure knew that was the truth. “He lives with his brother, Rick Stevens, but that is a high impossibility that he did it. I called him and he’s in Tokyo on a business trip. He is an assistant executive of Intel, over on the west side of the city.”
“So back to the blob guy, the zebra, the claw and the thingamajig.” Sam said. “That can’t be all the people, I mean, there are about 2,700 members on the site, and any one of them could have done it.”
Mic and Ema both seemed to be thinking. Then, as if their minds had merged, Mic started.
“Well, think about it! How many of those 2,700 actually used the site?” Mic referred to the counter at the bottom of the page. “Only 50 on their best day.”
“And out of those 50, how many did you think actually really knew this guy?” Ema pointed out. “I don’t think Stevens is the type that hands out addresses to his place to random people. Only those he trusted. Like the Niklaw thing.”
“And out of the people he trusted, how many do you think actually had something against him?” Sam jumped into their vibe. “Maybe someone found out about Niklaw’s idea, or Niklaw himself hopped in and closed the website.”
“So, we are all in agreement that Niklaw is the first person we want to talk to, right?” I tried, totally loving it when I can get them thinking like this.
“Exactly!” all three said at once.
They paused and looked at each other.
“That was cool!” Mic laughed.
After further hacking, Sam discovered his name was Nicolas Locke and he lived at 91st and Ankeny. However, his school, Benson Polytechnic high school, was where he probably was at in the moment, as he was part of an after-school computer class. Rest assured, the three would be waiting for him.
“So,” Sam started, shutting the laptop, relieved to have gotten enough of the crappy Wi-Fi signal to finish, “Are we ready to go?”
“Hold it!” I stopped Sam in his tracks. I was digging in the pocket of my Polo jacket and dug out four taser guns. “This guy could be volatile, so you should take some of these.”
Although Hesitant, the usually non-harmful Ema knew logic when she saw it, and picked a taser, delicately placing it in my jacket. Sam cautiously grabbed one himself. Mic, who had previously stated that he always wanted a taser, eagerly grabbed it from me and accidentally fired at Ema.
A half-mile away, a shrill noise scared all the ducks out of the pond at Laurelhurst Park.
“Oops,” Mic shrugged, sheepish. “Sorry.”
All Ema could spit out was “That HURT!”
I angrily snatched Mic’s taser away as Ema limped into a seat. “I better come along with you guys, before Mic, gee, I don’t know, happens to electrocute someone with the entire power system.” I shot him a dirty look that read “Idiot.”
Sam couldn’t help but quip “And let Ema scare away every bird in the tri-county area.”
Ema was the first to laugh at that.

(Narration of Sam Eastman)
Climbing inside of a Crown Victoria, I grabbed a map of the metro area and quickly calculated an easy route to Benson- Follow Burnside all the way down to twelfth, then hang a right and you’re there. Did I mention that as great as Ema is, she fails at directions? I sat next to her as she grabbed the wheel and asked “Would you like me to drive this time?”
She shook her head vigorously and focused on the road, replying “Nope. This is gonna be the day. I can do it this time.”
Mic rolled his eyes and said “Dear lord, we’re gonna end up in the next county.”
“You. Zip it.” Ema snapped. “It’s not like you can drive us here, so shut up or I’ll drop you on the side of the road and leave you there.”
Mic groaned and settled down for what could be a long drive. Buffy punched him in the shoulder and grinned. She was getting ready for the show, I could tell.
“So, where do I turn, Sam?” she asked me.
“Uhm, twelfth.” I replied, looking at my map to double-check. I smiled at her, in a gesture of friendliness, and added “Shouldn’t be hard.”
She pushed the hair out of her eyes and said “Well, wish me luck.”
I grinned and nodded.
About a half-mile down the way, she asked me “What was it again?”
Internally, I was shaking my head in frustration. “Twelfth.”
She nodded and readjusted her focus on the road.
About 3 minutes later, we approached 12th avenue. “Ema, there it is.” I told her. She didn’t seem to notice, blowing right through the complicated 6-way intersection.
I tapped her on the shoulder, and she swerved across a few lanes clumsily. Harried, she gasped out a “What?”
Almost afraid to answer, I replied “You missed it.”
She slammed her hand on the steering wheel, accidentally blasting the horn, surprising all of us. “DANG IT!” she yelled out. “Now what am I supposed to do?”
“Grand’s coming up.” I told her. “Just turn right there. Next light signal. And this time, turn, please.”
She sighed and actually turned right at the signal.
“Now next turn right at Lloyd Boulevard.” I told her.
Luckily, this time she didn’t overshoot it. On the downside, she undershot it and got us onto the freeway.
“Goddang it Ema!” I sighed, ready to pull my hair out.
“What, that wasn’t Lloyd?” she replied, frustrated.
“Jeez, Ema. We’re on the freeway. No freaking duh this isn’t Lloyd.” I grumbled.
“Well, what am I supposed to do now?” she replied.
“For Yah’s sake, Ema, you’re a detective. You figure it out.” I told her tersely.
“Well, I’m not going to just keep following this until my hair turns gray, which should be pretty soon if you keep talking to me.” She snapped at me.
“The only thing keeping me talking to you right now is the fact that if I don’t, we’re never gonna get there!” I shouted.
“Ema. Sam. Shut the living heck up.” Mic called at us. “I’m sick of getting ‘Traveling Soap Operas’ on the radio. Get a life, it’s a freaking drive, you don’t need to act like jerks over it.”
Ema turned to the windshield, and 20 minutes later, we were there. Absolute silence.
I didn’t know if I enjoyed it or dreaded it.
I stepped out of the car and walked over to the others. Ema kindly reached out to slap me across the face. “From now on, you sit in the backseat, you got it, jerk?”
I rolled my eyes and started to walk to the school. Uncertain, Buffy and Mic followed, hoping not to get in the middle of it. Opening the doors (and by opening them I mean slamming them against the wall in an effort to blow off steam, and at the same time really improving the police force’s image) I sauntered into the office and asked “Excuse me, Ma’am. I’m looking for a Nicolas Locke.”
Ema butted in and, gently pushing me aside, asked “Portland Oregon Police Department. We need to talk with him.”
The secretary raised her eyebrows and told us “Don’t know what you would want with him. He’s a great student.”
I decided to be blunt “A website owner was murdered last night, and he and Locke were very closely connected over the internet.”
The secretary gasped as Ema gave me her first dirty look I think I ever got from her. Ah, well, there’s a first time for everything, and I was glad to retaliate with one of my own.
Mic pushed us both apart. “Yeah, surprising, eh?” he told the secretary charmingly. “But don’t worry; we’ve got more suspects than a Law and Order episode. We just want to talk to him because he was the only one to get Stevens’ address. Is he here? Because we, uhm, hit some rush-hour drama along the way, if you catch my drift, so we’re a tad bit late.” The secretary laughed as I raised my eyebrows at Ema. Ach, who could stay mad when Mic started to talk to people?
“Well, young man,” the secretary replied, full grin on her face, “I do believe that the technology after-school class ended about 15 minutes ago, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to try again tomorrow.”
Ema groaned in frustration. We had just missed him, and we all know why that was.
“Ah, well.” Mic smiled, throwing his hands up in an “ah, well” gesture, and said “That we may do, ma’am. You have a nice day, you hear?”
“One more thing.” The secretary told Mic. “I do wish your companions had your kind manners.”
Mic laughed and gave her a thumbs-up as we walked out. I grimaced and told Mic when we were safely out of the school “You’re lucky she doesn’t know you in real life.” He smirked, rolled his eyes and said “Shut up, jerk.”
Ema ran across the street and angrily kicked the cop car and shouted a loud obscenity. So unlike her. But could you blame her?
“I am NEVER driving again!” she shouted as she launched her foot onto the door, causing a large dent. Not really caring, she proceeded to punch the hood, without hurting her hand, too.
I patted her on the back and told her “Hey, crap happens. We screwed up. So be it. Now we just try again tomorrow, eh?”
Smiling, she winked and added “You are so Canadian.” She loved to tease me like that.
I grinned and shook her hand. “Want me to drive this time?”
She nodded. “With pleasure.”
Mic couldn’t help but add “And so ends another thrilling episode of Traveling Soap Operas. Get in the car, fartfaces.”
“Can you believe this kid had so many manners in there” Ema asked me as we got in “And acts like a jerk out here?”
“Beats me.” I grinned as I started the car.
About a minute later, I honked the horn and shouted “DANG! I missed the turn!”
Ema just started to break out in laughter.



















Chapter 2

(Narration of Ema)

The next day, after a failed attempt to find Nicolas Locke at Benson High, I was jogging along the riverside in Tom McCall Waterfront Park. Y’see, I live in a lonely Cyan PDX loft downtown, not too far from Portland State University, as a boarding student from a small town called Lander, Wyoming, escaping without an accent. Okay, so I had never jogged much. Raised Cows? Yep. Fed Chickens and chucked ‘em in the burning pit when they keeled over? Yep. Jogged? Never. Yessiree, ladies and gentlemen, former farm girl Ema Felkis was about to do the extreme.
Equipped with a headband, jogging shorts and an MP3 player NOT equipped with ANY country music WHATSOEVER, as I made it a point to, well, point out, I set off on a local Streetcar to the southern half of the Park, Riverplace, which was right off the streetcar.
I got about a half-mile before I was doubled over, panting and sweating. If only Mom and Dad could see me now, I quipped to myself. I went to turn off her MP3 player, but dropped it on the pavement 3 feet below, jerking the headphones out. It survived, playing out loud.
I breathed a sigh of relief. That was close.
Then, with my luck, someone had to go and step on it. Journey’s voice died into the now worthless piece of plastic.
“Dang it, no!” I yelled aloud, followed by a 360 scope to see who broke it. The one who broke the player swiveled around like a seat in a new Town & Country.
“What’s wrong?” he gasped out, still surprised by my outburst.
“Uhm… you broke my friggin’ Mp3 player, that’s what’s wrong!” I said.
The jogger smacked his forehead. A year or two older than me, he had tall jet-black hair and glasses that put Coke-Bottles to shame, resembling 3-D glasses. BIG 3-D glasses.
“Crap!” he muttered. “Sorry about that.” He bent down and scooped it up. Yes, scooped it up. It was that bad. “Man, that thing really is totaled, isn’t it?”
Taking in a deep breath, I replied “Yeah, which is kinda what happens when people step on it.” I sighed and admitted “Anyway, I dropped it, it’s my fault.”
“Yeah, well, anyways, sorry about that.” The jogger offered. “That thing must have cost a fortune.”
“Well,” I nonchalantly replied, “It was only 50 bucks.”
The next thing she knew, the jogger was taking out his wallet. Now if this guy offers to pay me, I will refuse, because it was my fault, of course. What the jogger did, though, was a slight surprise.
“Well, tell ya what.” Said the jogger, handing me a business card. “My group over at Intel around Hillsboro is testing a prototype MP3 player. Since I kinda owe it to you, I can let you test the first official copy. If you likey, you keepy.”
Now, trust me, I couldn’t refuse that. “Thanks!” I said, smiling, and myself and the jogger went separate ways.
About 1 hour later, exhausted, I decided to take five for a snack at Cupcake Jones in the Pearl District, the best in the universe. I did NOT do diets. I mean, come on, I’m exercising! While I waited for an angel food topped with chocolate, my favorite (I love the opposing forces of it), I pulled out that business card and read it.
It said
Intel Department of Testing
5000 NE Butler Rd, Hillsboro, Oregon, 97216
503-555-9712- For More Info, Contact Rob and Rick Stevens
503-555-5321
“Dam of the Dalles!” I muttered to myself, starting on my cupcake and makeshift cursing myself for not getting that person’s name, as it obviously wasn’t Rick Stevens, him being on vacation and Rob Stevens being dead. Sighing, I worked on the cupcake of opposing forces when my cell rang. Phone, not cage type.
Flipping my Razr open, I said my usual greeting “Ema Felkis, future Portland Oregon Police Officer, how can I help you?”
“It’s Sam Eastman, also future Portland Oregon Police officer. Where are you?” replied Sam Eastman, also future Portland, Oregon Police officer. I can’t help but grin when I get a phone call from… people. Let’s go with that.
“In the Pearl.” I replied.
“Well, we need you at Pen Kelly.” Sam replied. “Mic and Buffy are here, we just need you. We need to make our Runouw.Com memberships.”
“Okay, I will be there in a half-hour, as there are a lot of questions I need to ask you.” I responded, instantly confused beyond belief.
“See you then.” Sam replied, ending the call.
I left the rest of my cupcake on the bar, leaving with my head spinning like an overworked merry-go-round from the morning’s events. You see, the only way he could have us make memberships is if the site was open, and he probably did that, being as techno as he is. I just wonder if we are gonna gets any repercussions.
Around 11:45 in the morning, right around the time I was due, give or take an hour, I arrived ever-so-un-grandly, looking as if I was beat down. Don’t worry; the only thing that had beaten me down was Holiday Bus Service, as this particular day was Memorial Day. But, hey, who was I going to barbecue with?
Buffy raised her eyebrows. Exhausted, I put up a finger, signalizing “one minute” and took a couple of deep breaths and said in one giant breath frantically, “It’s Memorial Day, so the bus only runs every 35 minutes and I had to walk about 10 blocks to get to it plus I missed plus it was late so It took me a whole…”
Buffy interrupted with a “Breathe out!” and a chuckle. I took a seat and waited for her to speak. “You think you’re the only one with crappy bus service?” Laughing, she added “I was expected nearly an hour ago.”
I sighed, relieved to steer clear of any trouble. I figured that Buffy’s boss had made his exit already.
Sam grinned and motioned for them to come over to his laptop. “Well, with Buffy’s okay, I hacked into Runouw’s account and reopened the site. I posted this notice in the news topic for everyone to see. And, boy was that hard! In doing so, I think I broke everyone’s hearts.” He shook his head and looked down. “My job really sucks sometimes.”
Man, I thought I was emotionally beat from being a police officer. This guy is a fine specimen of “not afraid to show your feelings.” What is it with Sam that intrigues me so?
“Don’t it?” Buffy replied. “Hey, but somebody’s got to do it.”
He nodded and read his own post.
“This is Sam Eastman from the Portland Youth Police Training Department. The Portland Police recently found a dead body by Union Station, and found that it belonged to this Runouw character, Robert Stevens. And believe me, and sorry for breaking the formality, this sucks. Of all the people to pop up dead, it had to be the leader of 3,000 youth of Portland. We are currently working on the case, so if we pop up and visit you, be expecting it.
Sincerely,
Samuel P. Eastman
Buffy gave Sam a comforting pat on the back. “Thanks for taking the fall for us.”
Sam smiled weakly and added “I think we got 30 replies to that, from the more popular members. Our new moderator Avolerators was one of them. What he said was highly interesting. He actually said “This is horrible! But who’s going to run the site? Me, perhaps?” He took a large drink of water from his thermos and waited for a response.
Mic Davis, unusually silent for this long (which really weirded me out), put in, “The guy wanted the whole site? I admit, http://www.runouw.com is crazy in itself, but http://www.avolerators.com? Yeah, real catchy. I can see people trying to pronounce it now.”
“Like Runouw is easy to pronounce.” Buffy quipped. “Is it Run-Ow? Ru-now? Run-oo? Run-Oui? Run-oh? Is it even English?”
Sam couldn’t hold it in, laughing so hard he spit his water out. That caused everyone else to laugh, even Mic, who had regurgitated water spilled all over his feet. “Gross, dude!” he laughed.
“Charming!” I giggled hysterically.
“Sorry, man, but you definitely know better than to make someone laugh with a mouth full of water!” Sam replied. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Anyway, I thought it would be interesting to go undercover as normal teens and try to get at what’s going on online, so maybe we can actually investigate without ever leaving the library.”
“Library?” I asked. “Why not here?”
“Two reasons.” Sam explained. “One, if I have to deal with piece of crap Wi-Fi one more minute, I WILL throw the computer against the wall. Let’s not test that theory, Two, we need a new computer, because it is actually against the rules to make two accounts on the same computer. Don’t ask me why. Someone actually got banned for a month for this.”
“Yeesh.” I replied. Harsh.
“There’s a library about a mile’s walk over on Belmont Street. Want to go there?” Sam asked.
Still beat from the long morning, I groaned “Why the walk? I’m beat.”
“I parked my car there.” Sam explained, him having a part-time job there. “Would you rather take the bus?”
“God no!” I exclaimed. Pulling out her gum roll, I popped another foot in and said “Let’s go.”
Mic looked at her and said “What is it with you and gum?”
With her mouth full, I replied “I sure do like my Hubba Bubba,” As the group walked off down Burnside Street.

(Mysteriously Evil Narration)
“Pitiful Fools,” I spat vehemently from my office chair. Three young adults… and a kid? It would insult me, if it were not so amusing. As if they could stop me. Just because they have a toy badge? I think not.
Having used a computer to hack into a nearby traffic camera, I watched maliciously as my foes walked, almost giddily, down Cesar Chavez Boulevard. Tall oak trees from the next-door Laurelhurst Park started to shade them from my view and then, they were out of sight. But not out of mind, as I knew where they were heading.
I picked up the cell phone of my dead body and started to dial. One rings, two rings, three rings passed, and I was losing patience. After ring 7, I got an answer, but that was the last word of this conversation I was about to let him speak.
“You!” I hissed, not about to yell and get myself caught. “Those twerps are heading to Belmont library! Now, you idiot, if you are able to get my extremely obvious drift, I want you to blow a hole in those plans. I mean, you don’t want to face the consequences of failure, do you?” Before he could stutter a response, I had hung up on him. He’ll do it, of that I am 100% sure.
Suddenly, the door creaked open ever-so-slightly, and not knowing what else to do, I ran. I never said I was a perfect villain. Climbing out a window with my lucky baseball bat in hand, I silently slunk around the corner to the front door and then back in.
A young man was bent over the dead body of my victim, shocked. He swirled around and saw me. Gasping, I ran over to him, baseball bat in hand. His hand grabbed something, flinging it across the room at the exact same time as I hit him. He sunk to the ground, presumably dead.
Panicked, I went to see what he could have thrown, but then I heard sirens. Swearing loudly a couple of times, I sprinted out of the apartment and towards the river. The sirens may not have been for me, but I wasn’t gonna stick around to find out.
Sprinting down Station Way, my path was blocked by a fat Asian man, my landlord. Before he could recognize me, I hit him with the baseball bat, knocking him to the ground, out cold. I always hated that guy.
My next obstacle was a group of train tracks leading to the next-door Union Station. With Trains on them all. No way around these 20-car trains. I swore again, wishing I had gone the other way where there was a pedestrian bridge. Ah, well, got to compromise when the Popo is after you. I started climbing as fast as I could, reaching the top at lightning speed. Not bad.
I ran on top of the trains, severely denting the Silver Tin Can Amtrak I had climbed up. The first of three leaps was simple, as the distance between the trains was about 2 feet. The second was the same, but the third, oh crap. There was a set of empty tracks between them. I swore again, ran along the train and made a sideways leap between the trains. I almost made it, too.
The next scene would find me gripping the side of the freight train as, suddenly, it started to move. I climbed up, started running against the grain in a Southern direction. When I reached the end of the train, I leapt off, doing a couple of dirt rolls upon landing.
I immediately got up, and started running towards the river, weaving in and out of traffic on Naito Parkway. When a Car headed for me, I leapt over it in a single bound. Impressive.
I reached the Riverside trail, got a lighter out and struck it to the wooden bat. It started to burn, to the handle of it which I was holding by the very edge. When it started to reach my hand, I added more flame and swiftly threw it into the Willamette River. A shame. I had gotten that autographed by A-Rod when me and my brother went to a game at Yankee Stadium. But it’s better than a life behind bars.
I sat, depressed, along the pier. I had thrown away pretty much everything. Ah, well, it would all be over soon. For all of us.















Chapter 9-Enter the Library
The same morning.
(Sam Eastman’s Narration)
I woke up that morning 20 miles away from the rest of the crew. But don’t worry, I call that home. Yes, I really should move in closer to my two jobs, the other one being at Belmont Library, where I worked as a checkout person (or whatever you call it) part-time. And, yes, I have a couple of Employee-Of-The-Month awards under my belt. The only other benefit than the happiness that came out of it was the better parking space. But hey, no more parking in Walgreens across the street! Whee!
The morning involved me waking up with my roommate, Dave. I am usually always the first to wake up, that is, before I got the alarm clock that woke me up at 6:30am. Hey, I had to leave early in the morning since I lived 20 miles away in Pacific College, Forest Grove.
I shot up as if I had been struck by lightning. Dave pulled his pillow over his head. Typical. He cursed me out a little and added “For God’s sake, Sam, what the heck is with the alarm clock? It’s 6:30! And it’s Memorial Day! My glorious sleeping-in day!” I think he cried a little, too. Ah, that’s me. The straight arrow. Always getting stuff done on time, always keeping it clean and there’s Dave. There’s like an invisible line through our room, because Dave’s side is a jungle, he’s a mess, a frat boy, he wakes up halfway through first period, drinks a LOT of soda, parties religiously, and, did I mention, is absolutely nothing like me.
I tried to grin as I got my clothes on. “Come on, Dave.” I replied. “You gotta grow up someday. And besides, I have a world to save.” I started boiling coffee and frying some eggs in the communal kitchen. Cue Sara and Jessica groaning next door.
“You’re not really thinking that training to be a police officer or whatever is going to help you save the world, do you?” was the cynical reply.
“Well, it gets me through a tough day.” I replied. “Plus you never know. Things could happen.”
Dave groaned and rolled over again. I started to mercilessly beat him… with my pillow. What, I’m not that violent. The big guy groaned yet again like a derailing train and rolled out of bed. “You had better have made some strong coffee, my man.”
We heard our next-door neighbors walk into the communal kitchen, and I could only presume, still in their pajamas. I, in the starring role as Mr. Dutiful, was the only one dressed, plus I had made breakfast. The others, Dave, Sara and Jessica, were still waking up.
Dave elbowed me. “Ooh-la-la, looks like a breakfast date to me. Get your game face on, Sam.” I rolled my eyes, not caring what face I had on as long as it was my honest face.
Dave sauntered into the kitchen, sitting down in a faux-stylish manner. What a dork. I followed in, at the very least trying not to look like a fool. Mission unaccomplished, as I tripped over Dave’s chair and landed face-first on the table, tipping it over. Thank Yah I had not put the eggs on it yet.
Jessica started to giggle and point at me. Jessica, erm, she’s pretty and all, but not a nice person to hang around with. She’s about my height, has long brown hair and golden eyes and happens to be the longtime crush of my roommate, Dave. Hey, if you like people who have lost their soul, Jessica’s your girl.
Sara cried out “OHMYGOD!” and ran over to help me. Now Sara is a lot nicer. Dave happens to think she is very unattractive, her being 5”1 and a tad bit overweight (As if he has any room to talk) but her personality, I think, is one of a good friend. True, I would never consider her anything more than a good friend (as I am awkward in the dating world, let’s just keep it real here, folks) but Sara and I can talk about almost anything candidly without that awkwardness of being a teenager.
“Ooh, breakfast!” Sara squealed as she saw the plate of eggs and the cups of coffee. “Thanks, Sammy!”
Jessica groaned again and said “You couldn’t have made it later in the morning?”
I shook my head. “Nope, Duty calls. Got a big police case ahead of me.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Okay, Gibbs.” She had a habit of mockingly naming me after the character from NCIS, you know, the older guy who takes his job way too seriously. I would have complained, but that happens to be one of my favorite TV shows. Sara shot Jessica a dirty look and asked me “What kind of case is it?”
“The very worst.” I responded, trying not to snicker as Dave tried his best to look suave. I didn’t want to laugh out “A murder!” and have everyone stare at me like I was twisted or something. “Uhm, a murder.”
Sara gasped. “Wow, how horrible. How are you guys taking it?”
“Well, the redheaded girl, Ema-“
“You mean the one you like?” Sara butted in playfully.
Ignoring her in equal play, I continued “The redheaded girl always rued the day that we would get a murder, but she’s taking it quite well, although I think it stresses her out a little bit. She seemed unusually frazzled yesterday.”
Jessica piped up “Uhm, Love Doctor, she’s a girl. There are so many reasons she could be stressed. Not that I’ll clue you in on it.”
“Okay, Jessica.” I turned to her. “I’m going to be frank with you. No one asked you your opinion.”
Jessica and Dave gave me a dirty look, while Sara tried not to hold in snickers. Grinning, I continued. “Anyways, some guy who owned a website for a flash game got murdered, and that’s pretty much all I can legally say. Confidentiality and all that secret agent stuff.”
Sara shrugged and got back to eating. I wasn’t that hungry, just anxious to get to work. My god, I am turning into a workaholic, I thought to myself. I remembered a school project I had to do and lit up. That project sounded like fun.
“Well guys, I’d stick around but I’ve got to do some photography work.” I announced. “Downtown Portland, it’s for a school project. And here’s the good news- it’s due tomorrow!”
Dave cheered. “Whoop! Your first slack-off! You’re a college student now!”
I saw Jessica giggle a little. Dave turned around to see what that noise was, and saw it was indeed Jessica. She turned a little red. He winked.
Sara shook my hand. “Well, best of luck on that. And thanks for reminding me that I gots a project of my own to turn in. Have a great day!”
I nodded. “You too.” I added as I left the building, not getting a goodbye from anyone else. Ah, well. I grabbed my backpack, my wallet, the camera I was borrowing from the school, and left for the bus.
From the bus to the MAX light rail, I wondered, what was I looking for in love? Touchy subject for me to be writing, yes, I know, but you gotta know about me. I mean, as a co-writer, I gotta make sure you know how I think without this turning into a journal. I guess what I wanted was someone who was nice, who I was comfortable around, who was honest, fearless and above all, funny. That seemed to sound like someone I knew, I was just unsure who.
Shaking the thought, I left the MAX light rail train at Pioneer Square, Portland’s living room. I took the MAX Considering I had left his car at the library. I found Memorial Day a lonely day. Since in the University town of Forest Grove, car thefts were more frequent than the year before, I decided to leave my car at Belmont Library.
This particular day, I was using Pioneer Square as part of an assignment- use the space (which included an echo chamber, small geometrical waterfalls surrounding the entrance to the information center, a statue of a man holding an umbrella, and a direction pole showing mileage to nearly a hundred different worldwide locations) in an unexpected yet beautiful way. I went for the umbrella man, ready to show the world what life was like for this particular statue.
Before I got a chance, though, a nearby person with a food cart, popular in Portland, knocked me over. My camera, in all its 12-mexapixel, HD screen, $200, “Property of Pacific University” glory, was destroyed. A big crack darted along the lens and the screen, and, for the record, you can’t take world-changing pictures with a cracked lens.
“Shii… take mushrooms!” I spat aloud, getting up and surveying my camera. Not only had I no way to take pictures, I was on my way to the land of grade F.
The person who hit me stopped the cart, saying “What was that?”
“Me,” I replied. “You broke my really nice camera.”
The cart-puller smacked his forehead. He had tall black hair and- guess what? Big glasses that put coke bottles to shame. That looked like 3-D glasses. BIG 3-D glasses.
Yes, Ema typed her chapter before me.
“Jeez, let me take a look at it.” Our resident Klutz replied. “Yeesh that really is totaled. Dude, I’m sorry about that.”
“I understand that,” I said, feeling a frustrated vent coming on, “But that doesn’t help me too much, because I needed that camera before next week, because it’s for my college course, or I’ll get an F. A big, frowny face F that has a note from my teacher that says “See me after class” so she can charge me $200 for a camera I didn’t break, which, by the way, is a week’s salary for me and…” I paused. “Sorry for venting all this out on you.”
The mystery person handed me the same card he handed Ema about 15 minutes earlier. “Here, I work for the Testing department over at Intel.”
My face brightened. Intel was not too far away from Pacific University. “Oh, yes, Intel! I live over in that area. Pacific College.”
“I went there, too!” the person replied. “Class of 06. 2006, not 1906.”
“Yeah, I kinda decoded that.” I quipped, grinning. This guy seemed really nice.
“Anyway, here’s my card.” The mystery person continued. “I work for the Intel testing department, and I can get you in to test a new camera. You like it, it’s on me.”
Trust me, I wasn’t about to argue. “Sounds good. Say, what’s your name?”
“Avo Richardson,” Avo Richardson replied. I grinned and left to the police station, not being able to shake the feeling that Avo Richardson sounded oh-so-familiar to me.
I hopped back onto the next MAX train headed my way, stationed right in front of Pioneer Courthouse. I paid my fare, ran on before I missed it and got out my laptop. Hopefully I could catch some Wi-Fi on the train, but, hey, anything beats the Wi-Fi at Pen Kelly. I went onto the mess formerly known as Runouw.com and got ready for a crapload of work. Logging into Stevens’ account, I didn’t finish unlocking all the topics until I passed Lloyd Center, or, in English, 20 minutes. Then the members had to be unbanned. No way in heck I was spending an hour individually un-banning every single member. The train pulled into Hollywood, my station, and I realized that I needed to do this later.
After a mile-long walk down pleasant 42nd avenue through the Laurelhurst Residential area, down Glisan and 47th past stately Providence Hospital, I arrived at Penumbra Kelly. I got my laptop out and started unbanning people. That took about 30 minutes just to get the members that posted. I decided that there was no way in heck I was doing the rest. The way I see it, I think I was saving the future site owner a big job.
Then I had to face the hardest part of all- announcing the death of Rob Stevens to all his fans. I posted one of the global announcements and started typing.
“This is Sam Eastman from the Portland Youth Police Training Department.” (Good, good, starting off strong.) “The Portland Police” (insert hesitant pause, then continue) “recently found a dead body by Union Station,” (try not to break out in tears and/or throw the computer against the wall in anger) “and found that it belonged to this Runouw character, Robert Stevens.” (What do I do to sound like I care?) “And believe me, and sorry for breaking the formality, this sucks.” (Don’t really care how it sounds.) “Of all the people to pop up dead, it had to be the leader of 3,000 youth of Portland.” (Now what?) “We are currently working on the case, so if we pop up and visit you, be expecting it.” (Just a warning shot, that’s good. Now how will they know who I am?)
Sincerely,
Samuel P. Eastman
Ah, all done. Life really sucks sometimes. I shut down the site, waiting for a flood of “Good Prank! No, seriously,” and horrified reactions. I came back to my senses and cheered up a bit when I saw the wallpaper on my computer that I had never changed since the occurrence.
Mic, Ema and I on the graduation stage accepting the Medal of Honor.
I smiled and thought to myself “We ought to hang out more.”
Buffy walked up and said “Hey, Sam, did you even sleep?”
I nodded and replied “I just had an epiphany to open the website up and see what happens.”
She gasped. “You what now?”
I shrugged. “Is that a problem?”
She sighed and said “No, no. I just wish you had let me know before you do this stuff.” She managed a grin and added “That was a good idea, though.”
I grinned. “Well, I gots me some phone calls to make. See you in a minute!”
She nodded as I walked into a separate room.
My next move was to call Mic. I dialed his number and waited a couple of rings before he picked up. “Yello?” he asked.
“Hey, Mic, it’s me, Sam.”
“Yes, I know, due to a technological wonder called Caller ID. Amazing, eh?”
I laughed and replied with “Yep, who knew. With all jokes aside, how fast can you get to the police station?”
“Well, I better leave early, so I can get back before the Memorial Day Barbecue.” He seemed hesitant and then added “That’s at three.”
I sighed. “Lucky. My Memorial Day will probably consist of a turkey pot pie TV dinner. That having been said, see you soon.”
“Be there as soon as I can!” he replied happily, leaving me to hang up.
I grinned, took a deep breath and called Ema. It only took one ring for her to answer with “Ema Felkis, future Portland Oregon Police Officer, how can I help you?”
“It’s Sam Eastman, also future Portland Oregon Police officer. Where are you?” I replied, loving that sound.
“In the Pearl.” Was the reply. And I had a feeling where, too. That cupcake store by the streetcar.
“Well, we need you at Pen Kelly.” I replied. “Mic and Buffy are here, we just need you. We need to make our Runouw.Com memberships.”
“Okay, I will be there in a half-hour, as there are a lot of questions I need to ask you.” Was her response, and I could hear the confusion already. “What about Nicolas?”
“What about him? We hardly have anything to charge him on; let’s just wait ‘till we get more proof over the website. All right?”
She managed a small giggle. “All right. See you then.”
“See you then.” I replied, ending the call.
Upon arriving at the library, I told everyone “Stay here. I have to get my flash drive out of the glove compartment. It has the case files.”
No one had seen my car before. Mic, Ema and Buffy looked excited as I walked towards a nice new BMW.
That excitement quickly faded after I passed the BMW and went to a beat-up Ford Escort. The thing looked more like a meteor than a car.
“Yo, ever heard of Cash for Clunkers?” Mic shouted.
“You. Zip it.” I replied, unlocking the door. “Crap!” I called out. “The door handle fell off.”
“Seriously! You might get, say… 50 bucks for that gem!” Ema laughed.
“I will chase you down if I must!” was the reply, with a wink.
Horrified, I saw that the car had a gaping hole in the window, precisely cut out. The others saw that I was about to wet myself and ran over here.
“Who the heck broke into my car?” I cried out, horrified about my bad day.
“Who the heck would want to?” Mic replied. I punched him in the shoulder.
“Well, this is just a guess, mind you, but I have a feeling this guy has never broken into a car before, and must have done this late at night, with a small welding tool of some sort.” Ema said.
“And you would think this because…” I urged.
“Well, no seasoned car thief would have just torn a hole in the window.” She explained. “And if he tore a hole in the window, however the heck he would do that, he sure wouldn’t have done that in broad daylight. And look at the hole. So clean cut, it sure wasn’t cut with a chisel, I can tell you that.”
“Ema, you’re a genius!” I said, high-fiving her and climbing through the hole in the window.
Ema giggled and said “I am, aren’t I?”
I opened the door from the inside and said “This is weird. The only things missing are the flash drive and the car radio. And Hoover Dam it, I paid 75 dollars for that! Plus, my copy of the case files was all on that danged flash drive! I am such an idiot!” I slapped my forehead in the thought of “I AM SUCH AN IDIOT!”
“Hey, you’re a novice.” Buffy replied. “All novices make mistakes that could screw the whole case up.”
“Buffy, I know you’re trying, but, please, don’t.” I said. “Well, might as well just go in and start our accounts up.”
“Agreed.” Mic added.
Walking into the library, I went up to the woman at the front desk, an elderly Chinese lady. “Hello, Ms. Li.”
“Hello, Mr. Eastman,” Li replied. “Thank you for letting me know that you would need some time off. I am very proud of you, making so much effort into serving this city.”
I beamed. Ms. Li had become like the grandmother I had never had. I had become so attached to the library that even moving 20 miles west of it to Forest Grove was not enough to make me resign. “Thank you, Ms. Li. May I ask you a favor?”
“You’re a police officer. Go right ahead.”
“We need four computers. Like, right now. And for longer than an hour, too.” I explained. “Could you do that for us?”
“Definitely.” Ms. Li replied. “Computer 15, 16, 17, 18. All yours. Good luck, Officer Eastman.”
“Thank you, Ms. Li,” Ema put in. “You have served your city well.”
Ms. Li winked at me and pointed at a skipping Ema. I laughed. Ms. Li also liked to tease me like a family member. “See you, Ms. Li.”
On computers 15-18, we had to face their toughest challenge yet- picking our online usernames.
“What do we do?” Ema whispered across to Buffy. “Do something understandable, or do what everyone else has done-randomly type in letters on the keyboard?”
“If we do the latter,” Mic said, pausing to type in a few keys “Then call me hgjerert!”
Buffy gave it a second of thought and said “I’d say go with what is recognizable to you.” She said. “I’m going to go with Buffooner.”
“Buffooner?” Mic quizzed. “Where’d you get that?”
“My brother. Before his tour of duty he used to say my nickname was Buffooner, because I was always making a fool out of myself.” She replied, starting to feel slightly sad. I should know. She had told me that her brother had been in the army for a year, and was due home next month. It had been the longest year of Buffy’s life.
“Wow, your brother’s nickname for you was quite the insult, if you ask me.” Ema, an only child, remarked, not understanding why her brother would call her a buffoon. I gasped to myself, hoping that Buffy wouldn’t take Ema down over an innocent comment.
Fortunately, all Ema got was a hurt glare as Buffy said “It’s a sibling thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
Ema cheerily went to her screen and said “Yeah, probably not. Anyway, I like the Batman movies A LOT. A lot of lots. So I’m going to go with Joker.” She paused, and vigorously shook her head. “Nah, too obvious. How about Riddler? That’s less nerdy fan-girlish.” She quickly typed it in and then slammed her hand on the computer keyboard and hissed “Dang it, I forgot the L!”
“Well, ‘Ridder’,” I replied, winking. “I’m going to go in as MessengerOfYahweh, with no spaces.” Everyone understood that. I hardly kept my faith life a secret. My belief was that of the Messianic, and before you go “Metawhoic?” let me explain. What I believe to be the true original faith, with the belief of the messiah and New Testament of the Christians, and the Torah and Sacred Names of the Jews, but we were here first.
“I got nothing overly creative.” Mic said. “I’m pretty normal.”
That provoked snickers from all three of us.
“Hey, seriously!” he snapped. Giving it a little thought, he thought “Mario is… awesome, no, that spells Mia, Mario is… cool! Yeah! That spells Mic, and goes with the site theme!” He put it in, and said “Oh, wait, there is already a Marioiscool.”
“Put in your address number on the end.” Buffy suggested.
“Yeah!” Mic replied, putting in Marioiscool254, after his residence on 254 NE 21st avenue. And, just like that, they were signed up.
Marioiscool254 put in chat “Over here, Buff, MoY, and Ridder!”
Buffooner replied with an “I’m in.” Then the real Buffy whispered “You better not blow our cover over chat!”
Mic started to type “Yeah, like I’m going to actually blow our cover and post our case files on the chat” but then thought better of it.
Ridder posted “Hey, noob over here. But, hey, we all were noobs once.”
MessengerOfYahweh (my new alter ego) replied with a “Should we do a customary grammatical screw-up as all the other noobs do?” adding a little smiley on the end.
Marioiscool254 couldn’t resist. He put in “I is a noob and me have no good gwammah expewiensh. Joking!” I grinned. These three people I like to think of as blessings.
A suspect of theirs, with the wacky name of Blablob, replied “You haven’t heard the news? We gotta choose a new name!”
“I’ll say,” quipped Marioiscool254. “Because I can’t pronounce Runouw to save my life!”
Buffy whispered. “Good work. Play dumb. And, Mic?”
“Yeah, Buffooner?” Mic raised his eyebrows, thoroughly amused by the name, while wondering if he did anything wrong.
“Very good quip,” she grinned. Mic gave her thumbs up and a smile, thoroughly relieved.
“No, get this.” Blablob replied. “The guy the website was named after got whacked like a Soprano yesterday!” followed by a crying not-so-much smiley, smiley.
“Well,” Ridder put in, “looks like we came in at the perfect time for Teh WORLD DOMINATION!!!!” followed by a devilish smile.
Through her headphones, Ema could still hear me laughing in the seat next to her. She grinned with success written all over her face and turned to the screen again.
MessengerOfYahweh put in an LOL!
“Seriously, people!” blablob replied. “The site is in flames! The members are fighting, spam bots are multiplying, and it’s straight out of brandobrawl’s Runouw’s Forum Story!”
“Well, I know what I’ll be doing on this website!” Marioiscool254 posted.
“Helping us to regain peace and order on our beloved Runouw.com?” blablob asked.
“No, reading Runouw’s Forum.” Was the reply.
Buffy suppressed her laughter, quite unsuccessfully.
MessengerOfYahweh played the undercover investigator and asked “So, who are the people’s choices?”
“People’s? Ha! They hardly get a say-so! It’s all up to the moderators! All 3 of them!” Blablob added a mad face.
“Not exactly a random sample.” MessengerOfYahweh noted. Interesting, but if a mod wanted a site, would he go so far as to delete it after murdering Stevens? I don’t really think so, but there could be another reason.
“What be the calculator’s opinion, mortal?” Ridder asked. While I tried to portray myself in my online alter ego, “Ridder” seemed to be a totally different person from Ema, you know, darker and more playful.
“About 0.1% of our entire population.” Blablob replied “And yes, I used a calculator! Anyway, it’s between the moderators by the moderators.”
“What, no one else?” Ridder put in? “That sucks ‘cause I wanted to be the leader!”
I put in another LOL. Ema smiled and put her chin in her hand, satisfied.
“Well, we got Superyoshi. He’s a little rough around the edges, but gets the job done. And there’s Avolerators. He’s a new moderator, but he’s very active and friendly. Finally, there’s Fourinone- my pick. He posts a lot, he is on a lot, and is good to people a lot.”
Nonchalantly, I got out his business card, knowing that Avolerators sounded quite familiar. Ema swerved around, her fiery red hair falling in her face and took a look at my card and, astonished, asked “You got one, too?”
“Too?” I asked. “Was he a tall guy, tall black hair, and gigantic glasses?”
“That put Coke Bottles to shame?” Ema countered.
“That resembled 3-D glasses?” I replied.
“BIG 3-D glasses?”
“Yeah, he was.” I said.
“Yeah, he crushed my Mp3 player and offered to let me test a new one, and if I liked it, I could keep it.” Ema explained.
I felt my jaw plummet like an anvil through a wooden floor. “He did the same with my camera!” I replied, surprised. “Broke it, offered to let me test the new one, and keep it if I liked it!”
“Whoa… what was this guy’s name?”
“Avo Richards- wait a minute…” I found a connection. “Curiouser and Curiouser. Hold on just a second.”
I got ready to log off and hack into these people’s system and get their contact info. But before I could, get this, my computer imploded, the screen glass popping and the hard drive frying. All the other computers did the same.
“Blasted furnaces of…” I spat out, stopping myself short of a swear word.
Then the power went out.
Then Belmont Library caught on fire.
The real Blablob, Jake Blaine, looked out his window and saw a fire. He said “Hey that looks kinda like the library… wait a minute… oh shoot!”
Back at the library, Ema made a horrifying discovery, “MY HAIR’S ON FIRE!” she yelped, jumping in the air.
“How would you know?” Mic shouted back. “It looks exactly the same as usual!”
“Then tell me why the heck it is burning off!” Ema grabbed a fire extinguisher, spraying it all over her face, stopping the fire and giving herself a large white, foamy beard in the process. Even among the panic and chaos, I couldn’t help but laugh. Her hair had survived, although it was considerably shorter than before. Undaunted, she shook the foam off of her face and we started outside.
I spotted Richardson, the Intel Tester, outside with a laptop in his hand (by Intel, of course), and I could tell from experience that he was hacking, probably into all the computers of the library. “Over here, guys!” I yelled. Ema, Mic and Buffy ran close behind.
Buffy stopped short of the door. “Go!” she called. “I gotta evacuate all the people from the library!”
“It’s a suicide mission!” I yelled back, panicked. “You’ll roast alive like a bird on a rotisserie!” Okay, why must I spout metaphors- or similes- when my LIFE IS IN DANGER?!
“Good metaphor- or simile! One of the two.” Buffy called back. “But there are tons of people in there, and this is what I do, darn it!” And without another word, she dashed back into the library before I could stop her, which I would have.
Outside of the library, Ema, Mic and I chased down Richardson out of the library and into the middle of busy Cesar Chavez Boulevard. Cars grinded to a halt, surrounding them, and the drivers tuned in for an exciting sight- straight out of Law and Order.
I looked up at Richardson and, astonished, saw he had a hostage.
Even more horrifying, it was Ms. Li, unconscious and unaware that her life was in the hands of the three teenagers she trusted most. I tried not to burst into frenzied tears. That would look very un-impressive.
“You make a move, she dies!” Avo Richardson shouted. “The whole hostage routine! You know!”
Ema put in “Guess I can forget about that new Mp3 player!”
From what I learned, inside the library, Buffy was guiding people out of the library. “Get out!” she yelled. “It’s not safe in here!” as if the occupants didn’t know already.
Horrified, she noticed that books were banging against the water fountain. She watches Mythbusters, you know. She knew that if that water fountain were to burst open, this place would be going up in a fireball, and would cook her alive.
Back outside, Mic looked at the scene. “It just isn’t right! And this son of a hamster- he… he caused all of this!” he yelled. Angrily, he snatched Ema’s taser and lunged at Avo.
Avo dropped Ms. Li and fired his pistol at Mic.

[MICrophone]

Whoa! Interesting! I like how you're combining forums with real life! But…it's a lot easier to read if you just return between paragraphs. Other than that, excellent!

[Blablob]

Very good! I hope I don't turn out to be the killer, though.

[MessengerOfDreams]

Chapter 2 Up! I am almost done with chapter 3 and chapter 4 may be on the same day!

[Buff_]

Cool... but what about the ages? They seem different, well especially mine, from what I told you.

[MessengerOfDreams]

:looks at messages: :Smacks forehead:
Dang it to heck, I got everyone's ages wrong! Sorry, Buffooner.

But, hey, chapter 3 is out! Equipped with a cliffhanger ending!

[Buff_]

BOOM goes the cliffhanger! Chapter 3 is quite good, linking things with real life and the forums.

[Chaukai]

Interesting! Very different from other peoples stories that are based off the forums, I do like where this story is going! But.... A few things did bother me... One was the characters, how oddly non-realistic they are, I can tell that these people aren't just made up, they're downright fake. Another is your censorship. Good... You censored all the cusses... But is it really necessary? Would it not be better to just take out the word and replace it with a different one?

[Ridder]

Yay, we're downright FAKE. But no seriously, should we do something like describe our characters really well in PM's to you MoY? 'Cause you know, being fake hurts.

[MessengerOfDreams]

Interesting! Very different from other peoples stories that are based off the forums, I do like where this story is going! But.... A few things did bother me... One was the characters, how oddly non-realistic they are, I can tell that these people aren't just made up, they're downright fake. Another is your censorship. Good... You censored all the cusses... But is it really necessary? Would it not be better to just take out the word and replace it with a different one?

OWCH!!!!!

That was what I prided myself on the most!

Anyway, chapter 4!