There will be no abuse of semantics, dictionary references , multiple advantages from the dictionary, double meanings, or abuse of any kind toward any form whatsoever on this debate.
The stories will begin in round two.
I thank my opponent in advance for accepting this debate and I hope he will have pleasure with this debate.
I accept my opponent's challenge; however, I would like to slightly change one of the rules. My opponent said there can be no "unnecessary" language. I request that we are allowed to use asterisks (*) to replace any cuss words.
Other than that, I am ready to go. Let us hope the Muses grant you inspiration!
On Christmas Eve, Nathan thought it would be nice to buy his wife a little gift for the next day. Always short of money, he thought long and hard about what that present might be.
Unable to decide, Nathan entered Deben Haven's and in the cosmetics section he asked the salesgirl, "How about some perfume?"
She showed him a bottle costing $75.
"Too expensive" muttered Nathan.
The young lady returned with a smaller bottle for $50.
"Oh dear, still far too much" Nathan groused.
Growing rather annoyed at Nathan's meanness, the sales girl brought out a tiny $10 bottle and offered it to him.
Nathan became really agitated, "What I mean is, I'd like to see something really cheap" he whined, So the sales girl handed him a mirror.
"This way, John," said the General, his mouth a grim slash. John narrowed his eyes and studied him curiously. He knew when the General no longer called him "Mr. President" or referred to him as his superior, then something was brewing; however, his thoughts were quickly dispelled from his head as the two men rounded the corner. There, several meters ahead of him and hanging on a banister, was the most beautiful flag in existence. This, of course, was simply a matter of opinion. Other leaders of the world would view this flag to be the most despicable thing on earth and would wish to tear it apart with their bare hands, but not John. He always enjoyed watching the number or stars proliferate in the top left hand corner. For several years, there used to be 50 stars, but now there were exactly 100. The president, swelling with pride, saluted the flag, as did the General. Then both men rounded yet another corner, their black shoes echoing in the empty, narrow hallway. John studied the checkered floor beneath him, watching it pass as his steps carried him closer and closer to their destination. Microscopic cameras followed their progress, and then both men reached the end of the hallway: an elevator. John stepped inside first, and the General followed. The second their feet touched the ground, sensors evaluated the dust particles on their shoes to determine where they had been and who they had come in contact with. Several more cameras, invisible to the naked eye, scanned both men and checked for any weapons. The General, clearing his throat, said aloud, "Code Red, Ground Level". A small panel slid open, and the General placed his thumb on it. Should any other person have attempted to do this, several thousand volts of electricity would have coursed through their body, and they would have died instantly. The General, however, did so without incident, and the elevator began smoothly moving downward. He shifted uncomfortably under his superior's gaze and looked down and coughed.
"You, you . . . what happened," John stammered, his face as pale as chalk. The last time he had heard those words, "Code Red, Ground Level"--well, he would rather not think about it. When the General did not answer, he raised his voice. "Willis, answer me!"
"You'll see soon, John," and Willis briskly walked out of the elevator. John, used to having his orders carried out immediately, watched Willis dumbly as he walked away. A million thoughts raced around in his head, but John knew he had to remain calm. Whatever was happening, he had to keep his professional status as the president. Breathing in, he walked past sliding doors and found himself in a huge room. People were bustling about and machines whirled and hummed. He quickly found the General and grabbed him by the arm.
"General, enough of this nonsense! I want answers, now," he said. Now that they were surrounded by people, he had to refer to Willis formally, and vice versa.
"We received this several hours ago, I think you should see what it says," Willis said, handing him a slip of paper. John studied it, and with each word his face grew paler and paler.
He looked up and said, "But . . . but . . . we've . . . . this is ridiculous!" he stammered.
Willis nodded and said, "What more did you expect? They make nearly everything we sell, they have the largest population in the world, they're surpassing us economically speaking for God's sake! It was only a matter of time before they decided to declare war on us." Several other men listening in on the conversation nodded in agreement, but John suddenly rounded on Willis.
"Why was I not alerted earlier? You should have told me sooner!" he said angrily. Willis, however, had a ready excuse.
"Sorry, sir. They've been tampering with our communication systems, and we had no way of reaching you. They've also been interfering with our technology, and we have reason to believe they have infiltrated our computers and possibly this building," Willis said.
"Well, then. Hit the fail safe button. That should shut off all our systems so they will no longer be able to survey us," said John. He nodded his head toward a large, black button just an inch above a larger, red button. Willis, however, was already shaking his head back and forth.
"It's too late. They've tampered even with that and reprogrammed it so it's a self destruct button. If we press that, then we're all going to kick the bucket," Willis said gravely. Everyone took a nervous step back from the black button, as if simply standing in its presence would activate it. At that precise moment a black clad figure brandishing a pistol burst into the room. There was a second of shock as everyone attempted to register what just happened, and then the strange figure managed to squeeze the trigger once before he keeled over with 20 bullets in his chest. Breathing hard, Willis put his smoking pistol back in his pocket, as did several other men. He looked down, already knowing what he was about to see, but still was shocked at the site of it. John was lying in a pool of his own blood.
"****," Willis shouted as he rushed forward and tore his friend's shirt open. There, directly an inch below his heart, was a small bullet. Willis breathed a sigh of relief. He was still alive, but just barely. Willis got up and barked at several men, "Get the president to the emergency room, pronto!"
"Yes sir!" they shouted, and quickly retrieved a stretcher. Willis nodded approvingly, and directed his attention toward a young man who seemed to be in his 20s. Willis studied him sadly, knowing he was too young to participate in a war happening so fast.
"Young man, I want you to check the alarm button and make sure they haven't messed with that too, understand? If it is, then press it immediately and get out of this building," Willis said. Then, seeing the young man opening his mouth in protest, he said, "For God's sake, man! You aren't a soldier, you’re a technician! Do as I say, that's an order!" The young man nodded sullenly and began rapidly typing away at his computer.
Then Willis got several of his best men and said, "All right, follow me!" They all nodded and proceeded to follow Willis out of the room, but the building suddenly started shaking violently. Several huge chunks of stone rained down upon them, and a particularly nasty one missed his nose by an inch. Willis jumped back in shock, and found that some of his other men were not as lucky as he was. Swallowing, he repeated his order and noted with satisfaction that John was already being hauled out of the room. He quickly followed the president with his men behind him, and shot yet another black clad figure. Willis cursed again under his breath, "****! They're already entering the building. Come on, let's hurry!"
At that moment, the young technician crowed with joy. The button still worked! He pushed past several people and rushed over to press the big, red button. But before he hit it, the building began shaking violently. The young man raised his eyebrows in shock and a small "Oh" of surprise escaped his lips as his hand moved just an inch above the red button, and then he pressed downwards.
renji_abarai forfeited this round.
Due to lack of time, and to be fair to my opponent, I have decided not to post a story this round.
renji_abarai forfeited this round.
Tag, you’re it!
“What do you think,” John asked Sarah. She looked at the results thoughtfully and shook her head in amazement.
“I don’t know what to think of it. This just doesn’t make sense!” she exclaimed. On the screen in front of her was the picture of a man named Arian Booshehri, who was apparently the person behind all of the strange deaths happening in town. The only problem was that he was living in Jordan (at least that is what his profile said), which was nowhere near California, where Sarah and John lived. Sighing, John plopped himself in a chair as he attempted to figure out what all this meant. He decided to think from the very beginning, when it had all begun.
The killings had begun several weeks ago, and the first person to die was a man named Alex Trainer. Once his body had been discovered, he was quickly taken to the hospital to deduce the cause of his death; however, doctors were completely baffled by what they saw. Mr. Trainer was as healthy as a bull; there was no reason he should have died. Doctors then searched for any marks suggesting he had been shot, stabbed, strangled, poisoned, or attacked, but to no avail. Confused, the doctors took the strange case to the police department, thinking Mr. Trainer’s death could have been the product of murder. Detectives, including John and Sarah, attempted to find the cause of his death; they interviewed everyone Mr. Trainer knew, they looked over his body, and they even searched his house. They, like the doctors, failed miserably, but this time, there was one thing that stood out. Inside the house, there was a small card that stated, “Tag, you’re it”, right where Mr. Trainer’s body had been found. As childish as this card may have seemed, it led John and his fellow colleagues to believe Mr. Trainer was intentionally murdered.
Shortly after Mr. Trainer’s death, several other similar cases came up. In each case, the man and/or woman seemed to be perfectly healthy, but there was always a card where the victim’s body was found.
Finally, after weeks of hard work and dedication, Sarah had managed to find a DNA fingerprint. It was a small one, but it was still evidence. So, she decided to show John this new lead, and he attempted to find some matches to this fingerprint. After hours of searching, only one person had come up: Arian Booshehri. Now they were contemplating over how Booshehri could kill so many people if he was living in a completely different continent.
“We can figure this out tomorrow, I need some rest. It’s getting pretty late,” John said. He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened in dismay. “It’s 1:00 in the morning!” he exclaimed.
“Time flies by when you’re having fun,” Sarah said jokingly.
“Yeah, we’re having fun alright,” John snorted. He closed his laptop, which was showing the picture of Booshehri, and he packed up all his stuff as he prepared to go home. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and hopefully we can figure this out and catch whoever is behind all this,” John said.
“Bye,” Sarah replied. John walked out the door and got in his car. He listened to the radio as he was driving, but nothing interesting seemed to be on, so he just turned it back off. He got home at about 1:30 a.m., and he carefully shut the door behind him.
He dragged himself upstairs wearily and went through his normal routines as he prepared to go to bed. After he had taken a shower he put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth when a sudden thought struck him. Booshehri‘s profile had been last updated in 1999! “Maybe, if I can get the updated version of his profile, then we will know where he really is!” John thought excitedly. He quickly hurried into his room, where his laptop was lying. He got on the internet and searched for quite some time before finally getting the updated version of Booshehri’s profile. John crowed triumphantly. He was living several miles from the police station! He was about to close his laptop once more when something strange caught his eye. He stared into the laptop in front of him more intently, seeing something in the reflection of the screen. Then his eyes widened and his face blanched as he whispered, “No, oh dear God, no!” Those were John Smith’s last words as everything went black and his carpeted floor rushed up to meet him.
Behind John’s motionless body came a voice from a black clad figure that said, “Oh yes, Mr. Smith. We couldn’t have you sharing your findings with everyone else, now could we?” The figure cackled before putting a small card on top of John’s body. While leaving the room, the figure accidently caused the card to fly up, and it fluttered downwards on the carpeted floor.
It read, “Tag, you’re it.”
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